by Alex Pheby
Nathan looked up and his father’s eyes met his.
‘Die first,’ his father said, and Nathan thought that he had meant to strangle him, that he wanted him dead, but then his gaze softened, and Nathan understood.
‘Why, Dad? What’s so bad about it?’
‘To be God, Nathan, is to be the Devil,’ he said, each word falling out of him like hatchlings from an abandoned nest. ‘Better to die than to be God.’
His father looked up to the sky, brow furrowed. Then his mouth closed. He had no strength to speak, or stand, but before he fell back to the bed, he lifted his arm and moved it in a gentle sweep, palm up, so that the gesture took in the whole of the room and ended at Nathan’s mother. When he hit the bed he buckled again, returned to the struggle against the lungworms, the struggle he could never win, even though there were fewer of them now.
Nathan turned to his mother and she was shivering, her teeth bared, her fists clenched.
‘I say do it. Ignore him; he’s weak. Cure him, Nathan. Bring him back.’
‘I’ll get more medicine. Real medicine. It might work now.’
‘There’s no time.’
‘I’ll go now.’
‘Leave this place and you are not my son.’
‘Mum…’
‘Do it!’
‘I can’t!’
Outside, Sirius stood guard, and when Nathan emerged from the shack, the dog dragged him to a figure standing in the darkness. It was Prissy, wringing her hands and desperate to come over, but fearful, seemingly, of getting too close.
‘What is it?’ Nathan said, taking her hands and calming them.
‘It’s Gam. We argued on the way to the den about Joes. Gam reckons it’s Padge’s fault and he says he’s going to punish him for what he did,’ she said in a rush. Sirius trotted over, sniffed at her feet. She raised her legs in turn, but he kept sniffing and licking until Prissy stroked his mouth. ‘I came straight here, Nathan. Padge’ll kill him. He’ll kill him for sure.’
XXXIX
Padge wasn’t at his table and neither were any of his well-dressed men. There were men and women who spared Prissy and Nathan a glance, and others who stared, but if they were Padge’s people none of them made any sign of it.
‘He’ll be in the fly yard.’ Prissy ran on, turning to see whether Nathan was coming, but not slowing for him, and Sirius went with her.
The road was dark. Away from his father he could feel the energy Itching under his skin like anger. When he ran after Prissy, he could taste acid in his mouth.
They were by the back gate and in front of her were two of Padge’s men, arms crossed.
When they saw Prissy look towards Nathan, they uncrossed their arms and came at him, fists clenching, like mirror images of each other. ‘Mr Padge wants a word with you,’ they both said.
Nathan didn’t stop running and the Itch didn’t lessen. He reached them and they reached out for him, intending to lift him off his feet, carry him to see their boss, but Nathan Scratched before they could touch him and the Spark left him in a rush, burning up through his skin, up from his bones and sinews, into them. Both men froze. The only thing moving was their teeth, chattering in their jaws, clacking like dice shaken in a cup before they’re rolled. There was a moment in which the Spark wanted to keep contact with these men, to finish the work it had started, to make ghosts of them; there was a moment when Nathan wanted it to. But it passed, like a fire doused in the rain.
Sirius leapt at the nearest one, landing heavily against him, knocking him to the floor, but Prissy pushed the door to the yard open and ran in, forcing Sirius to go with her. Nathan followed.
The stench of rot was stronger today and the flies more numerous, stripped carcasses piled against one wall, ready for rendering, but Nathan paid them barely any attention. Prissy barged up to the door behind which Padge had his office, Nathan and Sirius close behind. It wasn’t locked, and here was Padge, standing just beyond the extent of the door’s opening. He spared Nathan the briefest of glances, as if the boy was nothing, and addressed himself to Prissy. He made a shallow bow, with a mocking flourish, and when he came up his fat lips met and he blew her a kiss. ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said, ‘this will save me a great deal of tiring walking.’
There was no sign of Gam.
‘Where is he?’
‘Where is he? Where is he? How impolite to mention neither of us by name. Where, if you please, Mr Padge, is my friend Gam Halliday? That is the correct formation of a question. Your dog is much better spoken.’
Nathan stepped forward and in the dark, though the pain in his arm restrained the Spark, and in Padge’s mirror he was outlined in blue, the whites of his eyes and his teeth shone with a light that burned behind them.
Padge raised his eyebrow and opened his jacket. To his waistcoat, against the silk and felt, there was pinned a brooch or amulet in the form of a ram’s head. It was the size of a fist and hinged so that something could be kept within it. Padge picked a thread from one of its horns where it had snagged on his jacket and rubbed it between his fingers. The thread balled and he flicked it over towards Nathan. It hit him on the chest, and he came forward, blazing now.
‘Don’t overreach, young Treeves. I have already seen off your mutt, and the contents of this charm ward me from your power. In part at least.’
Had Anaximander come here? Did he mean Sirius? Nathan was so filled with anger that he could barely think. ‘Where is Gam?’
Padge did not seem to hear his question. ‘No doubt if you were to go utterly berserk, of course, you could override its effect, but I fear this other dog and your pretty little missy would prove less resilient to the blue flames than I would. And besides, if you harm me, who will take you to where I have hidden your doughty sewer mate? He is not here, as you can see, and a man like myself has the use of many discreet lock-ups across the city. Your Gam would starve, or worse, before you could find him. So, let’s have less of the drama, and turn ourselves to the business at hand, shall we? Where is the locket?’
‘Gam first. And give me the medicine you owe me.’
‘What?’
‘The medicine. Yours was useless.’
‘Treeves, you really do surprise me. I had forgotten all about the medicine. You found it ineffective? Then complain to the pharmacist that made it. I am not an expert in these matters.’
‘I need it.’
‘That is no concern of mine. You were charged with the theft of a locket. You will give it to me, now, or I will see to it that Gam dies. It really is that simple.’
‘I don’t believe you. If you killed Gam, then who would do your dirty work?’
Padge shook his head as if he couldn’t credit that what he was hearing. ‘Nathan, you are quite the paradox. You come into my business, a thirteen-year-old boy, out of nowhere, carry out thefts that would tax any of my professional crews, tame magic dogs, make such a name for yourself that only two of my guards had the spine to appear here tonight, and now you stand before me, the terrible Mr Padge, quivering with rage and murder in your heart. This from a boy who still lives with his mother. Yet you ask questions that only a fool would ask. Gam is no use to me now, even if he hadn’t tried to kill me. He will be doing no one’s dirty work. He has been superseded, rendered redundant. If there is dirty work to be done, it will be to you that I come.’
‘Go somewhere else.’
‘Perhaps I will, but, equally, perhaps I will devise ways to convince you to use your talents for me. Anyone may be blackmailed, Nathan – just ask your precious Gam, when you get him back. In any case, the current situation remains unresolved – you have goods that my client requires. I propose a simple swap, but it must be done tonight. You have the locket?’ Padge was worried: at every mention of the locket, he reached up and swept the greasy curls from his forehead, reached for his hand-mirror and stopped himself. There was something else to consider here, but Nathan couldn’t imagine what it was.
‘Give him it,’ Prissy plead
ed.
Nathan nodded.
‘Good. You will have to come with me. I will lead you to where Gam is.’
‘You better not have hurt him.’
‘It is a little late for that. He is hurt, certainly, but not yet broken.’
‘The medicine.’
‘What of it?’
‘I must have it.’
‘Then take it. What do you imagine is stopping you?’
Nathan lowered his head.
‘I don’t know where to get it.’
Padge stopped and then opened his mouth as wide as a python does when swallowing a goat kid. He laughed long and hard, as if he had never heard anything so hilarious in his life. When he stopped he wiped the tears from his cheeks. ‘Now, suddenly, he is the little boy lost. It really is too much. Well, dear fellow, let old Mr Padge take you past a pharmacist on the way to collect young Halliday. I will show you how it is done, as a professional courtesy. And then I will recall my favour. How does that sound?’
Nathan nodded, and Padge showed him the door.
XL
Midway down through the Merchant City there was a shop like any other, with a sign like two snakes fighting on a branch. Prissy and Sirius stayed back while Padge and Nathan went up to the shop door. Padge rapped on it with his cane. Nothing happened, so Padge rapped on it again. After a little while, a wavering light appeared behind the bulging door glass and then the voice of someone shouting in irritation. ‘We are shut. Your needs must wait until tomorrow.’
Padge smirked and coughed, then his face took on the look of a distressed nobleman. ‘Good sir, I would not bother you if it were not of the utmost urgency. My wife is in distress, she requires analgesics.’ Padge gave Nathan a conspiratorial smile.
‘Tomorrow. Are you deaf?’
The candle was held on the other side of the door now, and Nathan could make out the outline of an old man in a nightshirt.
‘I beg you, sir. I can pay.’ Padge took out two shiny gold coins from his waistcoat pocket and clinked them together. At the sound, an eye came to the peephole, where Padge held the coins, turning them about, letting them catch the light.
‘One moment.’
Now there was the sound of locks turned and bolts drawn.
‘You understand there will be a surcharge for out-of-hours care, of course.’
The instant the door opened a crack, Padge kicked it in. The cane he had used to knock with was the sheath of a vicious blade and he drew it out, pressing his knife at the man’s neck. He gestured for Nathan to come in, and Nathan shut the door behind them.
‘What do you want?’ the old man cried.
‘What do I want? That is not the question. I want many things.’ Padge shuffled the old man into his drawing room. The place was immaculate, with souvenirs and knick-knacks and frilly doilies and painted miniatures of children and grandchildren and nieces and aunts all piled on the lid of a grand piano.
Padge pushed the knife an inch up, so that its point pressed into the man’s jawbone. ‘What do I want? Your wife, she is asleep upstairs?’
‘Do not wake her! I will give you whatever you want. Do not wake her, she is terribly nervous. She would faint and die.’
‘Wake her? I would do more than wake her. I would take my knife and slit off her lips. I would feed them to her. I would pop out her eyes and make her chew them. I would knock out her teeth and make her swallow them. What do I want? Do not ask me what I want. He is the one that you must satisfy.’
Nathan stepped back, but Padge urged him on with a wink. There was nothing for it. ‘Lungworm medicine.’
‘And it had better be effective, or we’ll return.’
‘Lungworm tincture? Yes, I have it. But you must understand, there can be no guarantee of efficacy.’
‘No guarantee?’ Padge enquired.
‘If a case is very bad, to kill the lungworm is tantamount to killing the patient. And some worms are immune. I cannot say it will work.’
‘You cannot? Oh, but I insist that you do.’ With one arm around the pharmacist’s neck, Padge took the knife and let the tip of it rest on the man’s left eyeball. ‘Would you like to guarantee this medicine’s efficacy while in possession of two eyes, or one? Or perhaps none? It is your choice.’
The old man stuttered and Padge let the knife slip into the white. The man went to cry out, but Padge was no amateur; the knife was out of the eye and his other hand was already over the old man’s mouth. ‘When I uncover your mouth, you will guarantee to my friend here that your potion will work. If you do not, I will switch my blade hand, and we will begin again. Do you understand?’
The old man nodded frantically and Padge let him speak. ‘I guarantee it!’
‘Good man. Your surgery is in the rear, I suppose. Come. Let us select your freshest batch together while my friend takes advantage of your well-upholstered chairs.’
When they returned, Padge had a parcel in white wax paper. ‘Farewell, for now. While your customer no doubt hopes that he will not require a further dose, I very much look forward to renewing our acquaintance. Good evening.’ Padge bowed and slammed the door with a flourish.
He stood before Nathan, preening, evidently very impressed with himself and keen that Nathan should recognise his good work. ‘That, Nathan Treeves, is how one procures the cure for lungworm. In, out, and the matter is done. No-one is harmed, much, and the cure may be attempted.’ Padge handed over the package. ‘If only you had thought to do what I have just done, you would find that you owe no-one any favours, least of all me. Yet perhaps your scruples stand in your way. You would prefer that I do the things that you cannot do, so that you need not do them at all? Very well, Nathan, but there is a price to pay for a clear conscience. You are young. You have not learned this lesson for yourself through hard experience. You think me a monster, no doubt, yet I think you will come to learn better.’ From his velvet jacket he brought out the scroll they had stolen from the man with the fawn birthmark, and from his pocket took a quill. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘I find myself without ink…’ Padge made a show of patting himself down, and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, jabbed the sharp end of the quill into his palm. ‘Not the most effective blade, but anything can be made to serve at a pinch.’ He dug around in his palm and when he was done there was a pool of blood in his hand and the quill was moist with it. ‘Do you know how to write your name, Nathan?’
He nodded – his father had shown him, so long ago now that Nathan could not remember the circumstances, only the picture his father’s face made, lit up in pride when Nathan mastered it – and when Padge held out the scroll he made the lines, clumsy and bold, that meant ‘Nathan’.
‘Excellent,’ Padge chirruped, his own face lit, but with something less wholesome than a father’s joy in a son’s accomplishment, ‘you can consider our debt settled.’
XLI
Padge guided them through the back streets of the Merchant City to an inconspicuous house beside a baker’s.
‘The entrance to the cellar is in the rear,’ Padge said. ‘Shall we try an exercise in trust? If you hand to me the locket, I will hand to you the key. No? You prefer that I should come with you? And what if you were to take advantage of your superior numbers to overwhelm me, what then? What if I am tricking you, and when you go down into the cellar, I lock the door behind you? Your imagination fails you, I suppose, or your experience of matters like this. Still, I am more seasoned. Here, take the key. I will wait in the cold until you verify my good faith. See how trusting I am? Let this be another lesson to you.’
Nathan took the key.
‘Do not be shocked when you see him. Gam is not an easy boy to kidnap – he gave as good as he got.’
‘What have you done to him?’ Prissy wailed, but Padge waved her off.
‘Broken bones heal, stitched wounds scar, and in no time a boy is back to his normal self.’
Prissy grabbed the key from Nathan and ran for the cellar hatch.
Nathan reached into his jacket and took out the locket. ‘I don’t know why this is so important to you.’
Padge licked his lips and held out his hand. Nathan dropped it, the chain pooling as it fell, until the body came to rest in Padge’s palm. The instant Nathan’s touch left it, Padge clasped his other hand around it. His unctuous greasy smile broadened until it split him from chubby cheek to chubby cheek. He checked this smile in the mirror, and then he bowed to Nathan. When he rose, he had a sympathetic, almost reluctant look sitting uncomfortably on his face, as if Nathan had lost a game of chess to him too easily, but when he left he said nothing, merely turned and slipped off into the night.
‘Nathan!’ Prissy’s scream was heavy with tears.
Gam was behind a barrel. He might have been sleeping, and his breathing was like a man in the depths of a troubling dream, fast then slow, spit-flecked and throaty, but his eyes were open, fixed on the wood directly in front of him. His dead eye was fat with swelling and the other was red as a cherry. His lip was split so that when he breathed a fine spray of blood came with the air.
‘I’m sorry,’ he spat. His left arm was twisted beneath him, but it was clear from the angle at which his hand emerged that something wasn’t right. ‘Padge made me do it. Joes. He said if I didn’t, he’d get his assassins to kill Prissy. Said he’d have her minced and fed to his customers. He’s done it to others.’ When Gam spoke, there was something in his chest that caught, a broken rib or bruised muscle that made him flinch.
Prissy’s face didn’t know which emotion to show – concern for Gam, broken; anger at Gam, killer of her friends; gratitude to Gam, for saving her from Padge. ‘You… you… you…’ she began, but couldn’t resolve her confusion.