The Baroque Cycle - The System Of The World Part 17

"Of course there will be," Saturn said.

The coffee was served, and money changed hands, in the form of copper tokens, minutely examined by Angus.

"Now why do you say I should attend to the doings of Parliament?" Saturn asked, as they were beginning to sip their coffee. "What connexion could I possibly draw between the situation of the Duke of Cambridge* and your hole in the ground in Clerkenwell?" and your hole in the ground in Clerkenwell?"

"None whatever. Save that Parliament's more loud and obvious doings may be used as a sort of screen or blind to cover arcane, subtile machinations that might reward your attention."

"This is worse than being given no information at all," Saturn grumbled.

A man entered solus, and began to look round the place. Daniel knew immediately it was their buyer. But rather than jumping to make their presence known, he settled deeper into his chair so that he could spend a few moments inspecting the newcomer. In silhouette against the glowing screen of curtains, he could easily be confused with an actual gentleman, for he wore a wig, clamped down by a hat with a vast brim folded upwards in the style then mandatory. A sword dangled from one hip. But when he stood, he crouched, and when he walked, he scuttled, and when he noticed things, he flinched. And when this man came over to the hearth, and accepted a chair pulled up by the uncharacteristically hospitable Peter Hoxton, Daniel perceived that his wig was stinking horsehair, his hat was too small, and his sword was more danger to himself, in its sheath, than it would've been to others, out of it. He nearly tripped over it twice, because every time he whacked it off a chair- or table-leg it jumped back between his ankles. He put Daniel in mind of a clown at St. Bartholomew's Fair, got up to mock a gentleman. Yet the mere fact that he was trying so hard earned him a sort of dignity, and probably counted for something in a house of this type.

"Mr. Baynes, Dr. Gatemouth," said Saturn. "Doc, say hallow to him we are calling Mr. Baynes."

"Dr. Gatemouth, 'tis a pleasure as well as an honour," said the newcomer.

"Mr. Baynes," Daniel said.

"Would you be one of the Gatemouths of Castle Gatemouth?"

Daniel had no idea what to do with this question.

"Doc is of a very old family of armigerous yeomen in the Gatemouth district," prated Saturn, sounding bored.

"Ah, perhaps they knew some of my forebears," exclaimed Mr. Baynes, patting his sword-hilt, "for I am nearly certain that Gatemouth Abbey lies adjacent to a certain vicarage where-"

"It is not his real name," Saturn snapped.

"Of course, that is obvious, do you think I am a child? I was merely trying to make him feel at ease."

"Then you failed. Let us speak of the Ridge, so that we may ease him out of this ken."

Said to a real gentleman, these words would have provoked a duel. So Daniel at this point was one uneasy gager. But Mr. Baynes was unfazed. He took a moment to re-compose himself and said, "Very well."

"Do you understand that the amount in play is large?"

"A large weight weight was bandied about, but this tells me little of the actual was bandied about, but this tells me little of the actual amount amount of Ridge, until the purity of the metal has been quoined." of Ridge, until the purity of the metal has been quoined."

"How large a quoin do you propose to hack off?" said Saturn, amused.

"Large enough to balance my toils and sufferings."

"Howsoever much you a.s.say-a.s.suming you truly do do-you'll find Doc, here, is no Beaker. The amount amount and the and the weight weight are as identical as the refiner's fire can make 'em. And then what?" are as identical as the refiner's fire can make 'em. And then what?"

"A transaction," said Mr. Baynes, guardedly.

"But last time I had dealings with you, Mr. Baynes, you were in no position to move such a quant.i.ty of Ridge as Dr. Gatemouth has on his hands. A glance at your periwig tells me your fortunes have in no wise improved."

"Peter Hoxton. I know more of your story than you of mine! Who are you to cast aspersions!?"

Now Daniel had scarcely followed a word of this, so dumbfounded was he by Mr. Baynes's appearance. But around this time, he was able to formulate an explanation that fit the observed phenomena, viz.: Mr. Baynes had wooden teeth that had been carved to fit a larger mouth. They were forever trying to burst free of the confines of his head, which gave him a somewhat alarming, horselike appearance when it was happening. For him, speech was a continual struggle to expel words whilst keeping a grip on his dent.i.tion. Therefore he spoke in a slow, deliberate, and literally biting cadence, terminating each phrase with an incredible feat of flapping his prehensile lips around his runaway choppers and hauling them back into captivity.

The sheer effort expended-so say nothing of the risk incurred-in casting this rebuke at Saturn, gave it telling weight. Peter Hoxton recoiled, fell back in his chair, and raised a hand to run it back through his hair.

Having thus cleared the floor, Mr. Baynes continued, "Supposing a cull did have the resources" (a very difficult word for him to...p.r.o.nounce...requiring a lip-wrap fore and aft) "to engage in a Transaction of the magnitude contemplated by Dr. Gatemouth-would he come here here to meet with a to meet with a stranger stranger? I think not! He would delegate the matter to an underling, who would in turn choose a trusted intermediary, to make the initial contact."

Saturn grinned, which only made his unshaven face seem darker, and shook his head. "We all know there is only one coiner in the realm who can act on this scale. There is no need to flinch, I'll not utter his name aloud in this place. You'd have us believe, I take it, that you are speaking on behalf of some lieutenant of his?"

"A great big one-armed cove, a foreigner," Mr. Baynes allowed.

And now, a bit of a Moment. To this point, Mr. Baynes had been putting on a pa.s.sable show. But it was bad form to have volunteered such information, and he knew it.

"You see, I do not bate at divulging such data, data, such is my confidence that he will deal only through me." such is my confidence that he will deal only through me."

Doc and Saturn nodded sagely, but the damage had been done, and Mr. Baynes knew, though he might not admit, it.

The syphilitic gager on the floor, who had appeared dead for a while, had been stirring ever since Mr. Baynes had made his entrance. Daniel supposed this was an effect of the way they'd rearranged the chairs, for Daniel had moved to a new spot between the wretch and his precious coal-fire, and was blocking what little warmth spread out of it. The gager now made noises that indicated he was sitting up. Daniel did not turn around to look-he did not have to, as Saturn was watching all with green disgust. Something told Daniel to rise and get out of the way.

He and most other Fellows of the Royal Society recognized syphilis and leprosy as distinct diseases, spread in different ways. But most other persons had conflated the two diseases in their minds, and so recoiled from syphilitics in much the same way as they would from lepers. This explained everything about how Saturn was reacting now. Daniel, F.R.S. though he was, reverted to superst.i.tion in the clutch, and allowed the gager the widest possible berth as he half-crawled and half-staggered toward the hearth. Some of his limbs dragged senseless on the floor, while others moved in spasms, as if he were being stung by invisible hornets. Trailing his nest of filthy blankets behind him, he slouched on the hearth, completely eclipsing the light of the fire, and hunched even closer to it, rubbing his paralyzed hand with his twitchy one. His gray hair would be dangling and burning in the coals now if he, or someone, hadn't wrapped it all up in a sort of bandage-turban atop his head.

"The questions that this foreign gentleman will ask of me, may be easily antic.i.p.ated," observed Mr. Baynes.

"Indeed," Saturn returned. "The Ridge is from America."

"As Dr. Gatemouth is known to have recently come over from Boston, no one phant'sied it came from Guinea, Guinea," Mr. Baynes said, with elaborate meanness. "The foreign gentleman will be curious: have rich new gold mines been discovered on the banks of the River Charles? Because if so-"

"If the foreign gentleman truly does represent the coiner you and I are thinking of, why, he must be a busy man, and disinclined to hear long tedious Narrations of pirate-exploits on the Spanish Main, et cetera, et cetera," Saturn said. "Does it not suffice for him to know that it is in fact Ridge? For the entire point of Ridge is that it may be confused with other Ridge, and it matters not where 'twas dug out of the ground."

"The foreign gentleman thinks it does does matter, and further, is ever matter, and further, is ever alert alert for inconsistencies in Narrations. Indeed, in his world, where commerce is, of necessity, informal and for inconsistencies in Narrations. Indeed, in his world, where commerce is, of necessity, informal and ad hoc ad hoc in the extreme, to tell a coherent Story is the sole way of establishing one's credit." in the extreme, to tell a coherent Story is the sole way of establishing one's credit."

"Mr. Baynes is correct as far as that goes," Saturn told Daniel in an aside. "Men of this sort are literary critics of surpa.s.sing shrewdness."

"No convincing Tale means no Credit, and no Transaction. I am here, not to quoin your Ridge, but to a.s.say your Story; and if I do not bring him a ripping pirate-yarn to-night, why, you are finished."

An odd snuffing noise issued from the hearth, as if a handful of dust had been tossed on the coals. Daniel glanced over to see that the gager was rubbing feverishly at his eyes and his mouth. Perhaps the smoke had irritated his mucous membranes, and had made him sneeze and paw at the encrusted sores that so disfigured his face. Daniel then noticed that the fire was blazing up, but producing a good deal more smoke than light. The smoke was drawing swiftly up the chimney, which was fortunate, because it had an evil, thick, reddish look.

He turned his attention away from the strange actions of the gager, and back to matters at hand: Mr. Baynes, who was still prating about the foreign gentleman, and an empty chair.

The empty chair demanded a second glance, and then a third.

Mr. Baynes himself was only just becoming aware that Saturn was gone. Both of them now turned to survey the parlour, supposing that their companion might have stood up to stretch, or to rid himself of his empty mug.

Twilight had come over Salisbury Square, but enough of it sifted in through the windows to show that Peter Hoxton was no longer in the room.

Most of that light was now blocked. The women who had been perched before the lace curtain were scattering away from it. One seized a fistful of skirt and hauled it clear of her ankles, and used the other hand as a flail to clear impediments out of her course: a straight line to the nearest exit. She looked as if she were of a mind to scream, but had more important things to do just now, and so all that came from her mouth was a sort of hooting noise.

For an instant it was almost completely dark in the room, and then Daniel felt in his soul the impact of something huge upon the window. Stakes of broken wood strode end-over-end across the floor, bounding through a skittering wash of sharded gla.s.s.

He stood up. A lot of people seemed to be headed his way, as half the s.p.a.ce in the room had been claimed by a black bulk thrust in through the obliterated window. Daniel stepped back toward the chimney-corner, knowing that, in a human stampede, he'd be the first to end up with boot-prints on his face; but suddenly there was a fizzing noise nearby, and the room was plastered with h.e.l.lish light. The faces of the onrushing guests burst out of the gloom, a choir of white ovals, mouths opened, not to sing, but to scream; then they all raised hands or arms to protect their eyes. They parted to the sides of the room, faltered as they bashed into one another and stumbled over furniture, and finally came to a stand.

The center was now clear, except for a treacherous rubble of upended chairs, and Daniel had a clear view of the thing that had come in. It was a large and heavy-built wagon, like the ones used to transport bullion, but reinforced for ramming, and painted a black so profound that, even in the dissolving radiance that now filled the room, it was nothing more than a brooding blur. One part of it stood out brightly. Fixed to the prow of this terrestrial Ram was a badge of silver metal: a flat plate of polished steel cut into the flashing silhouette of a greyhound in full chase.

Doors flew open on both sides of the wagon, and good boots began to hit the floor; Daniel could see little, but he could hear the jingling of spurs, and the ring of steel blades being whisked from scabbards: Evidence that Angus's new guests were Persons of Quality.

Daniel half-turned toward the source of the light, shielding his eyes from it with one hand, and looked at Mr. Baynes, who had lost his teeth, and seemed very old and helpless. Of all the strange things that had obtruded on Mr. Baynes's senses in the last ten heartbeats, the one that owned his attention was the emblem of the silver greyhound. Following Mr. Baynes's gaze, Daniel began to see it in more than one place: the men piling out of the wagon, and herding Angus's clients into the corners at sword-point, all wore similar badges on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The unoccupied wagon was now withdrawn from the window and dragged off to one side. Suddenly the parlour had become an annex of Salisbury Square. A large cloaked man was cantering toward them on a black stallion, with saber drawn.

He rode right into the center of the room, reined in his charger, and stood up in his stirrups, revealing a silver greyhound pinned to his coat. "High Treason!" he proclaimed, in a voice loud enough to pelt off the opposite side of the square. "I say, on your knees, all of you!"

It was true of beasts and humans alike that when they were terrified-literally scared out of their wits, beyond the pale of reason-they either froze, or ran away. To this point Mr. Baynes had been frozen. Now his instincts told him to flee. He jumped up and turned away from all those silver greyhounds that seemed to be chasing him. In so doing, he turned full into the light. But the light was now coming over him like a burning cloud, seeming to exert a palpable force that pressed him down onto his knees, and then to all fours.

Daniel's eyes had finally adjusted to the brightness, or perhaps the light was slowly burning out. He could see now that the old gager was gone, his blankets collapsed on the hearth like a snake's shed skin.

From them had emerged what ninety-nine percent of Christendom would identify as an angel, with flowing white hair and a sword of fire. Even Daniel was tempted to think so; but on a moment's reflection he decided it was Sir Isaac Newton, brandishing a rod of burning phosphorus.

DURING THE HOUR that followed the descent of the Queen's Messengers on Angus's boozing-ken, many vivid and novel scenes presented themselves to Daniel's organs of sense. But the next time he had a moment to sit and think-which occurred on the head of a sloop anch.o.r.ed in the river off Black Friars, as he was taking a splendid c.r.a.p into the Thames-these were the salient facts: that followed the descent of the Queen's Messengers on Angus's boozing-ken, many vivid and novel scenes presented themselves to Daniel's organs of sense. But the next time he had a moment to sit and think-which occurred on the head of a sloop anch.o.r.ed in the river off Black Friars, as he was taking a splendid c.r.a.p into the Thames-these were the salient facts: Isaac had tossed a handful of some chymical powder on the fire, causing thick smoke to spew out the chimney; this had been the signal for the Queen's Messengers to mount their a.s.sault on Angus's boozing-ken.

Peter Hoxton and Angus had dived through a sort of bolt-hole that led from the kitchen into the cellar of a neighboring house, gone out the back door into a little poultry-yard, vaulted a wall, streaked through a wh.o.r.ehouse, dodged into another boozing-ken, and taken another bolt-hole into an alley called The Wilderness (this the Queen's Messengers learned by following their trail and interrogating bystanders).

At its eastern end, The Wilderness dead-ended in the burying-ground behind Bridewell. There, Angus and Saturn had parted ways among unmarked wh.o.r.es' graves, and got away clean.

The sores on Isaac's mouth and eyes were fakes, made from the congealed latex, or sap, of a Brazilian tree.

The Captain of the Queen's Messengers-the big man who had ridden into the ken on horseback-was none other than Mr. Charles White, he of the bear-baiting and ear-biting.

After most of Angus's clients had been duly scared out of their wits and sent running, the Queen's Messengers, with Daniel, Isaac, and Mr. Baynes in tow, had barrelled down the length of The Wilderness with no less speed than Saturn and Angus. Before them, Bridewell rose up above its crowded burying-ground. It was a surplus Royal palace, turned over to the poor a long time ago, half burned down in the Fire, and half rebuilt. Daniel had never really taken a good look at it before, as why would anyone want to? But this was probably the right way to see it: catching the last glimmer of blue twilight, and protected from the denizens of St. Bride's Parish by its muddy necropolis. As they gathered speed down The Wilderness, Daniel phant'sied that they were about to make a frontal a.s.sault on Bridewell Palace, galloping across the pocked lumpy glacis of the burying ground to ram down the doors and round up the wh.o.r.es. But at the last moment they veered right on Dorset and charged straight into the timber yard that spread along the riverbank there.

Two lighters had been tucked up against the timber-wharf, screened, by stacks of logs, from the view of any underworld sentries who might have been peering down from high windows of Bridewell. They had been well-manned with oarsmen, and ready to cast off and pull away.

A brief twilight row had taken the Messengers (half a dozen in all), Daniel, Sir Isaac, and their prisoner to this sloop, Atalanta Atalanta. For tonight's purposes, she was all bare spars, and incognito; incognito; but the coat of arms on one of her furled flags was that of Charles White. but the coat of arms on one of her furled flags was that of Charles White. Atalanta Atalanta was his own was his own jacht jacht. No doubt, when the Queen was made aware, she would be most grateful.

Charles White had spent the brief row sitting knee-to-knee with Mr. Baynes, absent-mindedly fondling the collection of dried human ears strung on his watch-chain, and wondering aloud how long it would take them to sail downriver to the Tower of London, where all of the really first-rate implements of torture were to be found. He had held a speculative colloquy with his fellow Messengers, wondering whether it would suffice merely to keel-haul Mr. Baynes en route; whether the effectiveness of said keel-hauling might be enhanced by doing it at the place (a hundred yards away) where Fleet Ditch emptied into the Thames; whether, in other words, Mr. Baynes's ability to talk would be impaired or enhanced by being made to inhale sewage; or whether they'd have to keel-haul him and then and then use the facilities in the Tower. The problem being that traitors, who were destined to be publicly half-hanged, castrated, drawn, and quartered use the facilities in the Tower. The problem being that traitors, who were destined to be publicly half-hanged, castrated, drawn, and quartered anyway anyway, frequently saw no incentive to talk.

One of White's lieutenants-a younger gentleman, probably picked for the role because he was sweet-faced and blond-then raised the following objection: namely, that Mr. Baynes might not be destined for the man-rated butcher-block at Tyburn at all at all, as it was not really demonstrated, yet, that he was, in fact, a traitor. He was roundly hooted down. But a minute later he raised the same objection again, and finally was given leave to explain himself.

A wily barrister, he said, might argue that Mr. Baynes was in truth a loyal subject of Her Majesty.

Stay, stay, 'twas not so preposterous! For clearly Dr. Waterhouse Dr. Waterhouse was a loyal subject, merely was a loyal subject, merely pretending pretending to deal with coiners as a trick to gather intelligence. Could Mr. Baynes's barrister not advance the same claim? to deal with coiners as a trick to gather intelligence. Could Mr. Baynes's barrister not advance the same claim?

No, it was ludicrous on its face, retorted Charles White-much to the dismay of Mr. Baynes, who had begun to show stirrings of hope.

For (White went on) Mr. Baynes had not, in fact, proffered any such intelligence, indeed probably did not have any. So drawing and quartering was certainly to be the fate of him, and the only question was: how hideous would his tortures have to be, between now and then, to make him do as he ought?

Daniel had the misfortune, during all of this, to be seated in the prow of the lighter, facing aft. This gave him a clear view of Charles White's broad back, and Mr. Baynes's hairless and toothless head, which frequently strained up or sideways to scan the boat for a sympathetic face.

To Daniel it might be perfectly evident that it was a childish masque, scripted to play on Mr. Baynes's terrors, and to break him without thumbscrews. But Mr. Baynes-an audience of one-was captivated by the show. His disbelief had not merely been suspended; it had been fired out of a cannon into a stone wall. There was little question his resistance was broken. The only open question was: were his wits ruined, too, to the point where he'd be useless?

Would Daniel, put in the same predicament, have been able to see through the ruse so easily? He doubted it.

Though perhaps he was was in the same predicament, and the show was being staged for in the same predicament, and the show was being staged for him him as much as for Mr. Baynes. as much as for Mr. Baynes.

The s.h.i.t that he took off Atalanta Atalanta's head was a masterpiece, exactly two well-formed packages plunging into the river like sounding-leads, and vanishing without a splash-evidence that his gut would keep functioning well after other parts of him had given way to age. He was inclined to sit there for a few minutes with his b.u.t.tocks cupped in the luxuriously polished wooden annulus of the s.h.i.te-hole, and to savor this triumph, just as the late Samuel Pepys had taught him to do in the case of urination. But the noises coming from belowdecks told him that he had responsibilities down there, not only to his Queen, but to Mr. Baynes.

For his fears concerning the latter had been realized. The Queen's Messengers might be very skilled at hounding traitors, but as a theatrical troupe they were rank amateurs, utterly lacking in the all-important Sense of Audience. They had let the show go on too long, and reduced Mr. Baynes to a blubbering imbecile.

Daniel pulled his breeches back on, went aft, and, at the top of the narrow staircase that led belowdecks, nearly collided with a man coming up for some fresh air. The only thing that prevented it was the other chap's white hair, which shone in the light of the half-moon, and gave Daniel a moment's warning.

He backed up and allowed Isaac to join him on deck.

"Mr. Hoxton has shown his colours, I should say," Isaac remarked.

"What-by running off?"

"Indeed."

"If he had stayed to be keel-hauled, thumbscrewed, drawn, and quartered, we'd know him to be a trustworthy chap, is that it?"

Isaac was mildly affronted. "No such fate would have befallen him, had he shown a willingness to serve the Queen."

"The only way in which Peter Hoxton can be can be of service to the Queen-or to of service to the Queen-or to you you-is to bring me intelligence from the flash world. If he had not not run away, he would have thereby declared himself an enemy of all things flash, and become perfectly useless. By escaping, along with Angus, he has enhanced his reputation beyond measure!" run away, he would have thereby declared himself an enemy of all things flash, and become perfectly useless. By escaping, along with Angus, he has enhanced his reputation beyond measure!"

"It is of no account. Your role is now played out. And well played. I thank you."

"Why did you send the smoke-signal? Why not wait to see what else Baynes would divulge?"

"He had already over-stepped, and divulged too much," Isaac retorted, "and he knew it. He grew reticent, and, to try you, asked you for your story. I knew you had none, or at least, none fit to withstand the scrutiny of this one-armed foreigner, or even of Mr. Baynes. My decision was: Let us advance!"

"What is it you need from Mr. Baynes now, in order to advance?"

AT D DANIEL'S INSISTENCE, Charles White and his merry men left Mr. Baynes alone for a few minutes in a cabin, though they made sure to put him in irons first, so that he'd not devise some way to evade justice by committing suicide. Charles White and his merry men left Mr. Baynes alone for a few minutes in a cabin, though they made sure to put him in irons first, so that he'd not devise some way to evade justice by committing suicide.

Daniel lurked outside the cabin door until Mr. Baynes stopped sobbing and whimpering, then counted slowly to a hundred (for he himself needed to calm down a bit), then opened the hatch and went through, carrying a lit candle.

Mr. Baynes was on a bench with his hands fettered behind his back. Before him was a plank table. He had slumped forward so his head lay on it. Daniel was certain he had expired from a stroke, until he perceived the prisoner's pinioned arms slowly rising and falling, as his lungs filled and emptied like the bellows of an Irish bagpipe.

Daniel wished he could fall asleep, too. For a few minutes he sat there nodding drowsily in the light of the candle-flame. But he could hear booted and spurred feet pacing round the deck overhead, and he knew perfectly well that he was not anch.o.r.ed in some placid cove, but only a few yards off Black Friars, London.

"Wake up."

"Eh-?" Baynes pulled against his irons, then regretted it and sat up, his spine creaking and popping like an old mast taking a gust. His mouth was a dry hole, pushed in like a wound. He refused to meet Daniel's eye.