Ancient Appetites

XIX

Nathaniel left Silas's office as early as he could, taking the mechanical lift to the ground floor. He walked outside with Slattery's note clutched in his hand. Careful to check that he wasn't observed, he made his way round to the south wing, the oldest section of Wildenstern Hall, built nearly three hundred years ago. The door he was looking for was below ground level, at the foot of a flight of stone steps. It was solid oak, reinforced with iron bands, and he was surprised to find the hinges well-oiled and the lock in good working order.

He pushed on it, but it didn't budge. Looking back up the steps, he found he was nervous, unsure of what to do. He knocked tentatively and then again, harder this time, annoyed with himself for being so hesitant. Wildenstern Hall was his home, after all.

There came the sound of footsteps and he heard a key in the lock. The door opened slightly and a face peered through the crack.

'Ah, there y'are, sir. We was expectin' yeh to come through the passage. We don't use this door so much.'

So there was another way in, Nathaniel noted. Strange that he didn't know it. The man opened the door and ushered him in, taking a quick, furtive look outside before closing it again. There was only a hint of daylight now, from around the door. Nate found himself in a long dark stone tunnel. The air down here was cool and a little damp, and there were heavy wooden doors at regular intervals on either side of the corridor.

'Not been down here before, sir?' the man asked. 'Better let me lead so. Roof's a bit low and the floor's uneven, so yeh have to watch yerself. McHugh's my name, sir. Pleased to meet you.'

The man had a candle in his hand and it cast a fluttering light as they walked along. Nate noticed that McHugh was wearing a leather apron over his shirt and trousers. He was a short man, with a stocky body, large arms and short legs; short red hair circled a growing bald spot. The roof was very low in places and Nate found himself catching his toes on the worn and cracked flagstones. He had a dozen questions he wanted to ask about the place, but he couldn't bear to sound so ignorant of his own home. He supposed there were places all over the house that the servants knew better than their masters.

The tunnel took them to a door at the end where lantern light shone from round a corner. Going through the doorway, McHugh stepped aside and let Nate walk past. He wasn't prepared for what he saw and his breath caught in his throat.

There were three men in the large, chilly room apart from McHugh. Slattery was on the far side, leaning over a table wearing only an apron over his bare upper torso, and washing his hands in a wooden basin. Its water was red with blood. The second man was obviously another of Slattery's thugs, a giant of a fellow with matted hair on his bare forearms and tufts of it sticking up from under his collar. He too wore an apron.

But it was the flabby, middle-aged man in the chair who seized Nate's attention. His wrists and ankles were shackled to the sturdy chair. He was naked to the waist and blood was spattered all over his chest, most of it seeming to come from his nose and mouth. His head hung limply forwards, but Nate could still see that his face had been badly beaten and some of his teeth were broken or missing.

There was a bottle of whiskey on the table and Slattery poured a little onto his hands, rubbing them together before rinsing them in the basin.

'Good afternoon, Mr Wildenstern, sir.' He nodded. 'Be with you in a moment.' Seeing Nathaniel look at the whiskey bottle, he smiled. 'It's good for cleaning a person's smell from your hands, sir In this line of work I find myself continually covered with the stench of others. And though I like the smell of whiskey, I never let a drop pass my lips – or those of my men when they're in my company. I believe that alcohol is the root of all sin and will be the ruin of this nation. It makes us lose control… and that is a terrible thing.'

He finished washing his hands and, picking up the basin with one hand, came over to his battered victim. He threw the bloody water into the man's face. There was no reaction. Grabbing him by his greying hair, Slattery lifted the limp head and stared into the unresponsive face.

'We are despised, my lads and I,' the bailiff declared softly, letting the man's head drop back onto his chest. 'It's not how we would like things – we're not evil men. We'd like to be treated with the consideration, respect and diffidence that normal people expect, but it's us as has to do the hard things that need to be done to keep order. The unpopular things.

'Information, Mr Wildenstern, is the key to control,' he continued. 'Your father – if you don't mind me sayin' so – is a great believer in it. Know what's going on, know who's doing what and, above all, know who knows what you don't.' He indicated his senseless prisoner. 'This man's name is Eoin Duffy. He's a moneylender and a trader in stolen goods. A few days ago we received a tip-off that an engimal – one of those known as "bright-eyes" – that belonged to the company building the railway tunnel for the Wildensterns had been bought by a local collector. We retrieved the engimal from the collector and persuaded him to tell us where he had bought the creature. He gave us Mr Duffy's name.'

McHugh tossed Slattery a rag and he dried his hands. Nathaniel was torn between being riveted and repulsed by the sight of the tortured man.

'Mr Duffy here has been very helpful,' Slattery went on, taking down his shirt from a coathanger that hung from a hook on the stone wall. 'He gave us a name: Séamus Noonan. Noonan is a known associate of the late James McCord, the former owner of the deafened horse. Again, he's not known to be a rebel sympathizer, but Duffy here is, aren't you, Mr Duffy?' The unconscious man did not reply. Slattery grinned. 'Noonan gave him the engimal to pay off the money he owed Duffy and make a little more on top – they're worth a lot of ochre, these things.'

Pulling on his shirt, he did up his tie and donned his waistcoat and jacket.

'So we can put McCord and Noonan at the site of the explosion and connect them to the Fenians through our friend here. Duffy says their relationship was just business, but we're not swallowin' that. We still don't know who the spy in the house is, or who's runnin' the show. Chances are, he doesn't know; it would make sense for the boss to keep his lackeys in the dark. Duffy's not a strong man and he's probably told us all he can. We'll give him some time to pull himself together and then we'll work on him some more – just to see what else he can give us.'

Nate gulped down a lump in his throat. He had grown up in an environment that had prepared him for violence. And this was not the first time he had witnessed grievous injuries; he had even seen men killed on the hunts in Africa. But what he saw here turned his stomach.

'That's enough,' he said hoarsely. 'I want you to clean this man up, treat his injuries and take him down to the police office. This is a matter for the magistrate now'

Slattery's expression went flat for a moment and Nate felt a chill go down his spine.

'People of… tender years, like yourself, sir, are often disturbed by these harsh realities, sir,' Slattery began. 'But your father-'

'My father put me in charge of this matter,' Nate interrupted him, 'despite my "tender years" – and you will do as I bloody tell you! Take this man to the magistrate! He will be tried properly and given the sentence he deserves. Do you understand me?'

Slattery gazed at him with dead eyes. His two henchmen were on either side of Nathaniel and he felt his skin crawl as they looked to their boss for his reaction. The moment seemed to last an age. Then Slattery smiled and held his hands up in a friendly gesture.

'As you like, Mr Wildenstern, sir,' he said at last. 'After all, we should have involved the police in our investigation from the start. I suppose my enthusiasm for being an amateur sleuth got the better of me. My apologies, sir. Mr Duffy will be delivered to the magistrate as you've instructed. If you don't mind, we'll follow up on the information we've received thus far and keep you – and the police, of course – informed of developments. Thank you, sir.'

And then Slattery said no more. The three men stood staring at Nate, none of them moving. He looked from one to the next and eventually just nodded and walked out of the room. Stumbling along the dark corridor, he had reached the door before he realized he didn't have the key. With a start, he turned to find McHugh standing behind him, without his candle. The man hadn't made a sound. Reaching past Nathaniel, he unlocked the door.

'Yeh'll be wantin' to get out, I expect, sir,' McHugh said to him, and then added in a softer voice, 'Not to worry. This is a messy business and not to everyone's taste – least of all a gentleman like y'self. But these toerags'll get their comeuppance, you can count on that. They'll regret the day they crossed the Wildensterns.'

Nate nodded to him and stepped through the door. It was a bright day outside and he was taken aback by the sunshine. For some reason he had been expecting it to be late evening.

'Take care, sir,' McHugh muttered, and then closed the door.

Nathaniel climbed the steps and hurried away, trembling.

Hugo and his sisters continued their recovery. It took little more than a day before they were able to eat solid food, which they put away with appetites that Gerald said must surely defy the laws of physics. They became insatiable, eating until they were fit to burst and then stopping only long enough to sleep for an hour or two and let their meals settle. When they finally started using the toilet – needing help at first, but soon walking down the corridor on their own – there was little about them that resembled the bodies that had been blown from the ground not so long ago. The women were talking now too, but only to their brother.

Hugo had the appearance of a man in his fifties; he was still weak and sickly, but growing steadily stronger. His hair was black at the roots and he was cultivating a moustache and triangular goatee. The two women looked even younger, but in different ways. Brunhilde was a nervous, twitching mass of energy; her shrewish face constantly twisted into various aggressive expressions. She often appeared confused or suspicious of those around her. Elizabeth was more placid and far easier on the eye. She moved around with demure grace, seeming to find so many things that interested and amused her. Unlike her defensive sister, her fragility gave her the appearance of a delicate flower. But there was an air of calculation about her too, and as with Hugo, there was a keen intelligence evident behind those eyes.

Their skin had stretched and become smooth, marred only by the pattern of wrinkles that were all that remained of their leather-like appearance, like a sheet of paper that had been crumpled and ironed out again. Proper clothes had been found for them, and books for them to read – they took a particular interest in history books and spent much time reading the King James Bible. But still, the sisters would speak to no one but Hugo, and Gerald became convinced that one of the reasons they were so shy was that none of them had woken with complete memories. They were still in a state of confusion.

Their other brother, Brutus, continued to lie in his perpetual sleep.

Two days after they became conscious, Edgar demanded an audience with Hugo. Nathaniel volunteered to take his ancestor upstairs. When they reached the elevator, Hugo looked suspiciously at the small room that lay past the open doors.

'What is this?' he asked, frowning at Nate. 'You wish to imprison me?'

'It's a mechanical lift,' Nate informed him. 'It will take us to the top floor. Cables… ropes attached to a winch and counter-weights pull this… this room up through the floors. It's very clever. You'll see.'

He gently guided the old man inside and nodded to the boy at the lever. When the floor lifted under their feet, Hugo gave a start and stared down fearfully. He was uncomfortable for the ride up and obviously uneasy about being in a confined space. Considering the man's history, Nate thought that was entirely understandable.

When the doors opened, Hugo gasped in shock at finding himself in a different corridor to the one they had just left. He lunged out of the lift to look around and then stepped back in again, gazing warily at his new surroundings.

'What magic is this?!' he exclaimed.

'It's-' Nate began, then stopped himself 'Hugo, there's a lot about our world you're going to find… different. We'll try and explain things as we go. But Father is waiting and he's not the most patient of men.'

Leading the old man down to his father's study, he knocked on the door and they were summoned inside. Edgar was waiting in front of his desk. For the first time in Nate's memory, neither his father's servants nor his dogs were present. Hugo eyed the Duke with interest and then looked around at the huge room.

'This is Edgar Wildenstern, Duke of Leinster and our Patriarch,' Nate said to him. 'Father, I give you Lord Hugo Wildenstern.'

'Welcome to my home, sir,' Edgar told the man. 'Nathaniel, if you will excuse us. I will have someone escort our esteemed relative down when we are finished.'

Nate nodded and stepped back through the door, closing it behind him. He was desperately disappointed at having to leave. That was going to be one hell of a conversation.

Instead, he had another session with Silas to look forward to, learning how the accounts worked. The elevator's doors opened on the accounting floor and, with a sigh of resignation, he walked out and down to Silas's office. He was surprised to find Roberto there, talking to their cousin. Berto looked up and a look of relief came over him.

'There you are, thank God,' he said. 'I need your help.'

'And I need you here to go through some business,' Silas reminded Nate in an irritated voice. 'You go to America in a matter of weeks and we have too much to do as it is. Your father expects you to co-operate.'

Nate gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to plant his fist in Silas's peevish face. He did not need reminding about his father's wishes.

'I have to evict someone, Nate,' Berto told him in a sickened voice. 'Father said I have to go with Slattery and watch it done. They're harnessing up Trom! I don't want to do this on my own, Nate – I just can't. Why don't you come along? Wouldn't you like to take a ride in the country?'

'What do you need me for?'

'You're meaner than I am. You can offer moral support while I drive people out of their homes.'

Nate took one look at Silas and then slapped his brother on the shoulder.

'Anything for my brother! Of course I'll come. I'm sure the books can wait for another day,' he said, smiling.