In the Company of Thieves

by Kage Baker

  “Consider: throughout the ages, who has borne the light of Reason above the mire of ignorance and superstition? It has not been the King, nor the Priest, nor the Poet, nor even the Philosopher. No! It has been the Scientist alone who has worked consistently and, I may say, practically, to elevate suffering Mankind above the pit. It is his patient labor that fills the coffers of Empire, though the Adventurer may win brief glory. Industry and Prosperity are the gifts of the Scientist.

  “Yet, who is so unjustly slandered as he? The Church condemns him; Government grows fat on his accomplishments while declining to support him. Thanks to Mrs. Shelley’s book, the popular imagination sees in him a madman, a heretic, a second Lucifer for pride!

  “He struggles no less now than he did when the fires of the Inquisition raged.

  “For this reason we conceal ourselves, we brother Technicians. For this reason we conceal our most vital work from ungrateful Mankind, until the world is sufficiently civilized to appreciate what we do. And for this reason, we in the higher ranks bear assumed names, even amongst ourselves. You shall know me as Hieron; and our august brother, here, is Daedalus.” He indicated the dark gentleman, who had amused himself by blowing smoke rings through the speech.

  Edward stepped forward and, with another half-bow, presented to Marsh a black velvet case. When opened, it proved to contain a set of calipers made of gold. Marsh, having decided that Edward was certainly a mere servant, nodded curt thanks and rose to bow fully to the benevolent gentleman.

  The evening thereafter took on an informal tone, as Daedalus told amusing anecdotes and Hieron chit-chatted about certain members of Parliament in a manner that suggested he kept them in his vest pocket. The brandy went round freely; Marsh quite relaxed, laughing inwardly at what a fool he’d been, to be so frightened.

  Edward took little part in any of the conversation, only answering when addressed, which seemed to confirm Marsh’s impression of him. He merely leaned back in his chair, sipping brandy, smiling at the jokes and exhaling clouds of cigar smoke through his long nose.

  Toward the end of the evening, Daedalus gave him a significant look across the room, though his voice had lost none of its nonchalance as he said:

  “By the way, Edward, the Gytt affair’s on again.”

  “Is it really?” Edward said. “Much for me to do?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps young Marsh here ought to follow along at your heel. Test his mettle. Ha! Ha!” Daedalus smacked the arm of his chair, chortling at wit Marsh found inexplicable until he realized that Daedalus was referring to the fact that he, Marsh, was a metallurgist. He promptly chuckled in appreciation.

  Marsh heard the curtains flung open in his room, and pulled a pillow over his face to block the flood of morning light. He had just time to remember that he no longer lived with his mother before a voice said, in tones courteous yet firm, “Come along, Marsh, get up. We have half an hour to get to King’s Cross Station.”

  Marsh sat bolt upright. Edward was standing beside his wardrobe, packing a traveling-bag for him.

  “How the deuce did you get into my rooms?” demanded Marsh, feeling his head throb.

  “With a key,” said Edward coolly, closing the bag. “I’ve arranged for a hansom to arrive at half past seven promptly; we can breakfast on the way.”

  “But—”

  “Quickly, please,” said Edward, hauling Marsh out of bed by the back of his nightshirt and setting him on his feet. Shocked, not least by the man’s strength, Marsh said:

  “How dare you, sir!”

  Edward bent down to look him in the eye. “You had a great deal of brandy last night. Perhaps you may be excused if you can’t recall the particular business to which we are to attend. You do remember that you serve new masters, Marsh?”

  “Oh!” Guiltily, Marsh grabbed up his trousers and put them on.

  He waited for further explanation in the cab, but none was provided; nor did Edward bring up the matter at the station, where they boarded a train for Edinburgh. Nor, after the cold repast of meat pies and oranges Edward had purchased from a railway vendor, did he seem inclined to speak of the reason for their haste; merely opened a sporting paper and stretched out at considerable length on his side of the railway carriage, where he proceeded to amuse himself with an account of the latest prize-fight.

  Marsh studied him resentfully. In the cold light of day, Edward’s long, plain face had a certain unsettling quality. His cheekbones were very high and broad, his pale eyes rather small; Marsh wondered if he belonged to one of the Slavic races. There had been no trace of foreign accent in his speech, however.

  “Look here, I really must insist you tell me where we’re going,” said Marsh at last.

  “Why, I should have thought that was obvious. We’re going to Edinburgh. More than that, I’m not at liberty to say at the present time. Rest assured, however, that you will receive all necessary information when you need to know it.”

  Marsh listened closely to his pronunciation, and grudgingly conceded that Edward must have attended one of the better schools. “Very well,” he said, “but can you at least advise me whether we’ll be back by Monday morning? I hold, after all, a respectable position in the firm of—”

  “You held,” said Edward. “I sent your letter of resignation this morning. Don’t concern yourself, old fellow! They scarcely paid you what you were worth, did they? The Society will manage all your expenses.”

  “This is outrageous,” Marsh sputtered. Edward smiled again, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “You have begun a new life, Marsh. Surely you understand that? Nothing is so important as the work you are henceforth to do. Come now; perhaps a look at some of your field equipment will cheer you up.”

  He pulled over a leather traveling-case and opened it, displaying its contents. There were tools Marsh recognized, and tools at whose function he could not guess.

  “Permit me—” Edward reached in and removed what appeared to be a pair of absurdly thick spectacles in massive frames. He presented them to Marsh, who stared at them in incomprehension.

  “And these would be—?”

  “You are undoubtedly familiar with Masson’s spark emission spectrometer,” prompted Edward. “At least, I should hope—”

  “Of course I am,” said Marsh irritably.

  “We have improved on it,” said Edward, with only a trace of smugness. “This device may be used to determine the identity of all elements in any particular composition. Here—” he pointed within the case, “you will also find superior field assaying tools.” He withdrew a pamphlet from an inner coat pocket, printed in an absurd violet ink on tissue-thin paper, and held it out to Marsh. “I suggest you study this; operating instructions for the Improved Spectrometer. It ought to occupy your attention until we arrive.”

  And it did, though Marsh spent the first few minutes fuming over Edward’s demeanor, which was not that of an insolent servant so much as a patronizing older brother.

  They arrived at Haymarket Station in late afternoon, under quite the widest and windiest heaven Marsh had ever seen. Smoke streamed sidelong from a thousand chimneys in stark crenellation, on a sky like blued steel.

  Marsh stared up at it openmouthed, as he stumbled after Edward. The instrument case was much heavier than it looked, and he fell farther and farther behind. At last Edward turned back, and without a word took the case from Marsh. He hoisted it to his shoulder, before resuming his long-legged stride.

  He led Marsh to a decidedly second-rate hotel, where they signed in as a pair of commercial travelers. The journey continued up a narrow and twisting flight of stairs, to a room wherein was scarcely space between the beds and the walls.

  Here Marsh dropped his bag and flung himself down on the bed, panting. He watched with dull eyes as Edward sidestepped back and forth, unpacking his own valise and setting out shaving things with meticulous neatness.

  “I believe I’ll take a rest before dinner,” said Marsh, groaning as he sat up to pull off
his boots.

  “No-oo,” Edward said, as he set a stack of folded shirts in the wardrobe. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  “Why the hell not?” demanded Marsh.

  “We’re going sightseeing,” Edward replied.

  At some point Marsh’s sense of umbrage annealed into apathy. He slouched in the corner of the open cab, clutching the instrument case Edward had insisted on bringing, only anxious that the lap robe should not be twitched from under his chin. He ignored sweeping vistas of Auld Reekie and the Water of Leith. Edward was leaning forward, engaged in an animated conversation with the driver about Scotland’s romantic scenery. His customary affability heightened into a faintly idiotic enthusiasm as he prattled on; Marsh could see the driver’s eyes narrow with smiling calculation.

  “O’course,” said the driver, far too casually, “if it’s high romance ye’re after, Rosslyn Chapel is the ne plus ultra. Bare ruined choirs, gheestie knights an’ a’. Mind ye, it’s a’ o’ twelve mile awa’, and the fare’s nae modest sum; so I reckon ye’ll wait that for another time...”

  “Hang the expense, sir,” cried Edward. “Can we get there before dark?”

  “Hang the expense, is it?” The driver grinned and cracked his whip. “Bid yer friend hold tight, noo!”

  Marsh held on tightly indeed, and cursed Edward in silence as the cab racketed over hill and dale for all of twelve miles. When they arrived under the Pentlands, however, even he was moved to sit up and stare.

  Rosslyn Chapel was a ruin of parti-colored stone. Its windows had been smashed long since, and gaped black to the open air, save where they had been blocked with planking. Behind a shapeless broad front, seemingly the abandoned façade of a much more imposing building, a sort of cathedral in miniature rose instead, spiked buttresses projecting like ribs from a carcass. A profusion of carving drew the eye, a swarming complication of detail in its design; the longer one gazed, the greater was the sense of an endless receding pattern, an illusion done with mirrors.

  Marsh blinked and drew his hand over his eyes. He turned and looked instead at the Chapel’s situation, which was, as promised, romantic, at least if one found wooded glens and the view of a fairly prosaic-looking ruined castle so. But all in all there was a rather gloomy air about the place, the more so as the shadows were growing long and the air was distinctly chilly. He wondered if there might be a decent chop-house near their hotel, and whether it would be still serving meals by the time they got back. He was about to say something politely complimentary about Rosslyn Chapel when, to his horror, he realized that Edward was leaping down from the carriage.

  “Charming!” Edward brayed. “Simply charming! Is there a way to view the interior?”

  “Och, to be sure, dear sir; Wullie I’ th’ hut yonder’s got the keys, and for a smallish gratuity I’m sure he’d oblige,” the driver replied.

  “Oh, but the hour—” protested Marsh. “Perhaps we can come back tomorrow—”

  “Nonsense! You know you’ll enjoy this, Marsh,” said Edward, and reaching into the cab he gripped Marsh by the collar and extracted him. Marsh was obliged to follow Edward through a wet misery of thistles and rank grass to the aforesaid hut, where “Wullie” (a red-nosed ancient in a long coat and felt slippers) was roused after patient knocking and bribed, with sovereigns, to unlock the Chapel for them. Marsh noted the gleaming look that passed between Wullie and their driver, who laid a finger beside his nose and winked so vigorously it was a wonder his face uncreased afterward.

  Within the Chapel, Wullie droned on at great length in nearly unintelligible Scots about the remarkable carvings within; indeed they extended floor to ceiling, swarming in chipped stone floral ornamentation of dizzying complexity, in biblical scenes of every description, and in the occasional scowling gargoyle’s face.

  Marsh thought it all rather second-rate, but he put on the nearest possible approximation of an expression of polite interest as he stumbled around in the shadows after Edward and Wullie, lugging the instrument case the whiles. He listened to the genealogy of the Sinclair family, who had built the place in the dim reaches of the past, and to a great deal of superstitious claptrap about Knights Templar, the Holy Grail, and the ghost of a Black Knight.

  He waited an interminable length of time before one particularly torturously worked column, described by Wullie as the “Apprentice Pillar” and supposedly a marvel of craftsmanship. At last Marsh ventured the opinion that he thought a modern casting process could probably mass-produce the damned thing, and earned himself equally offended stares from the other two men.

  Not until their breath had begun to vapor in the cold did they leave, and Wullie followed them back to their cab with many a bow and scrape. Edward took the hint and produced more sovereigns. As he doled them out into Wullie’s palm, he asked casually:

  “Would you know of any other notable antiquities hereabouts? Roman ruins, perhaps?”

  Wullie counted the coins into his sporran before replying. “Och, sir, there’s birkies fra’ some University air other digging about the auld stones on yon brae; but ye won’t get nae joy fra’ the likes o’ them, nae, sir. No’ gentlemen at a’, sir. Hosteel tae a friendly inquiry, like.”

  “I see,” said Edward. He lifted his gaze to the hill the old man had referenced, where some manner of temporary camp had been erected. There were wagons drawn up, and two or three men who looked very like armed guards patrolling the boundaries. Marsh, watching, was a little taken aback to see Edward’s mask of well-bred idiocy drop for a moment, revealing something coldly feral. As Edward turned his face back, however, he smiled, and the illusion returned smoothly.

  “Well, I shouldn’t think I’d care to watch a lot of fellows grubbing about in the mud! Thank you, sir, for a most memorable visit.”

  “I may as well tell you that I can’t fathom any earthly reason for all this,” grumbled Marsh, when they were once again in the cab and bounding through the gloaming.

  “Driver!” said Edward, ignoring Marsh. “Is that Roslin Village, there?”

  “So it is, sir,” replied the driver, braking somewhat. “Wi’ a splendid public hoose and a first-rate hotel, too, I might add.”

  “Let us out here, please. I believe we’ll spend the night,” said Edward decisively.

  “What?” said Marsh, ready to burst into tears.

  “Yes. It’s rather later than I had realized. Thank you, driver.”

  Five minutes later, Marsh was trailing along behind Edward, hating him passionately, for they had gone nowhere near the comparatively cheery-looking high street of Roslin but doubled back instead in the direction of the chapel.

  “I should really be grateful for any answers at all, you know,” said Marsh, with the heaviest sarcasm he could muster.

  “I expect you should,” said Edward, peering ahead through the darkness. “Do you see the cottage there, amongst the trees?”

  “I see a light,” Marsh replied.

  “Very well; that is our destination,” said Edward, and strode on without another word. Marsh, infuriated to the point of rashness, drew on all his strength and sprinted forward, intent on seizing Edward’s arm to demand more information; but as he did so, there appeared in the path before them two dark figures. A beam of red light, thin as a pencil, danced across the track. Edward stopped immediately and Marsh ran into him. It was like colliding with a wall.

  “So do thrones topple,” he heard Edward saying, in quite a calm voice.

  “So are illusions dispelled,” someone replied from the shadows.

  “And we are everywhere.”

  Without another word they proceeded forward, all four, and Marsh saw clearly now the house, situated in a dark grove at the far end of a stretch of greensward. There had been some disturbance of the turf, apparently, for in the light from the single window Marsh glimpsed what seemed to be irregular clumps of earth and weed, scattered broadcast here and there. They called to his mind engravings of the battlefields in the Crimea; but that was
all he was able to make out before they arrived at the door and he was hurried within.

  Marsh blinked in the lamplight. He had expected at least a cozy, if poorly furnished, interior. He saw instead mounds of earth heaped everywhere, for the flagged floor had been covered with tarpaulins, and dirt and stones piled thereon to a height of four feet.

  “I suspected they’d send you,” said one of their hosts, to Edward. He was a middle-aged man, somewhat disheveled and unshaven, though his speaking manner indicated that he was an educated gentleman. He turned a grim visage on Marsh. “Who is this, may I ask?”

  “May I present Marsh?” Edward indicated him with a nod, as he doffed his hat. “We thought it might be useful if you had a metallurgist on-site. Marsh, may I present Johnson and Williams? They are, respectively, your Project Administrator and Chief Engineer.”

  “Charmed, sir,” said Johnson briefly, and turned back to Edward. “Look here, the whole business has become an absolute damned shambles—two men lost—”

  “How unfortunate,” said Edward. “I should very much like a cup of tea, as would my associate; I’m afraid I’ve rather run him off his legs to get him here. Perhaps you might brief us in the kitchen?”

  They repaired to a grubby antechamber where a youth introduced as Wilson prepared tea and a fry-up of sausages, for which Marsh was profoundly grateful. Johnson lit a pipe with shaking hands, settled back and exhaled, and said:

  “They found out about us, somehow, and they’ve begun a dig of their own.”

  “Ah! That would be the ‘University’ expedition on the hill across the way?” said Edward, who had produced a pistol from within his coat and begun cleaning it.

  “Gytt’s murderers, yes,” said Johnson.

  “Murderers?” Marsh said, horrified.

  “Marsh hasn’t been fully briefed,” said Edward, not looking up from the pistol as he loaded it. “You’ll explain as time permits, I’m certain? Just at present, what do I need to know?”