Circle of Stones (8 page)

Zac

I
confess I loitered by the door trying to look inconspicuous, but my striped waistcoat drew plenty of admiring glances.

I'm vain, I know that. It's a failing. And yet Sylvia's mockery galls me. Tonight, as I slipped out of the house past the room where Forrest was working, she had been there, sitting on the stairs, watching. “Have a good time, Master Peacock,” she had whispered.

A peacock is a stupid, brainless creature. I'm not stupid. Whatever her secrets are, I intend to know all about them.

Gibson's Assembly Rooms for Gentlemen of Taste turned out to be a great florid building all lit with lamps. I entered it between two braziers hot with coals, where sedan-men in livery warmed their hands & a few beggars cadged coins from the drunks who staggered out.

Inside, the rooms were hot & airless, the fug of tobacco & spirits nearly choking me, the salons slightly tawdry with too many glittering mirrors. When the flunky came back it was a relief.

“Lord Compton's party is in the Gilt Room, sir. He asks that you join him.”

He led me between the tables. Well-dressed men who spent their days taking the waters for their gout were paying heavily for it here, smoking & rolling dice or the ball in the wheel, great piles of coins in front of them. Spongers & hangers-on urged them to wager. Girls carried around trays of sweetmeats, their gowns as garish as Sylvia's had been. They were all painted hussies, their eyes watchful, assessing each man's wealth.

“This is the room, sir. Thank you, sir.” He eyed the small coin I had slipped him & bowed coldly, pomade from his hair dusting my sleeve.

“So you came, Zac.” Lord Compton sat at a card table with three other players. He smiled, leaning back. “I was sure you would.”

I bowed. The arrogant dog used my name as if I was his servant. “How could I resist?”

It was a better room than the others. A crystal chandelier brilliant with dozens of candles sputtered above. A sideboard was laden with dishes of cold meats and cheese; jugs of porter & bottles of fine claret gleamed. Some of the vintages I recognized from my father's cellar, all sold now, of course. They were vastly expensive.

Compton wore a robe of some velvet stuff over an open shirt & black breeches. He'd been drinking but, as far as I could tell, wasn't drunk. He waved a hand. “You'll play, Zac.”

It wasn't a request. I didn't move.

“I do not gamble, my lord.” It sounded foolishly stiff, even to me.

“I'm not surprised.” He watched me through the candlelight. A blond girl came in behind him & leaned over him, draping her arms around his neck. He took no more notice of her than of a fly.

“I gather that's how your father lost his fortune.”

He knew. Did I flinch? Perhaps my hand quivered, because the sword-stick tapped briefly on the floor. I managed to sound calm. “It's no secret.”

“Gambling is a two-edged sword.” His eyes were blue & clear. “It lost you everything, but had you never thought to win everything back? This might be the time, & place, Zac.”

“I thought you were offering me a job. If not, I will say good night.”

I turned, but he only laughed. “You are far too proud to be a builder's boy.”

I spun, glaring.

“Or should I say architect's assistant? Either way, it's not much. Especially to a loon like Forrest.”

“Forrest is a genius,” I snarled. Rather to my surprise, he nodded. “Maybe. Maybe he is.” He was already dealing the cards & he dealt a hand to me too, his fingers flicking the pasteboard squares expertly. Of his cronies, one was so drunk his head had slumped on his arms & he snored. Another staggered out of the room. The third, a fat, pimply youth, got up & wandered over to the food.

“Leave me out, sirs,” he slurred. “I am picked clean. Picked clean.”

Lord Compton smiled. He gathered up his cards & looked at them, then at me. “Play, Zac. You have no fortune left to lose.” His smooth, handsome face had a tiny beauty spot painted below one eye. The foppishness of it annoyed & yet fascinated me. I wondered, briefly, how much it cost to acquire one. Then I peeled off my gloves & picked up the cards.

It was a very good hand.

Compton watched my face. “Well, now. I seem to be a little out of luck. But .  .  .” He leaned over & slid some coins into the center of the table. Behind him the door slammed as the fat friend lurched out, the girl giggling with him. In the quiet bright room only the candles hissed & the sleeper snored. I knew this moment was a turning point, a hinge in my life. I could stand up & walk away, or I could draw out that money I had & meet his wager. It was as if a fracture opened in the circle of my life, that there was a gap I could escape through, if I chose.

I looked up, & his smirk infuriated me.

I took out my purse.

• • •

An hour later, my coat off, hair tousled where my hands had run through it, I stared despairingly at the quartet of knaves in my hand & tried to focus on the heap of small papers & coins before me. How much had I lost? How much had I promised him?

The cards blurred; I felt hot, my shirt sticking to the chair back, so I took another sip of the claret. It was sweet & fiery. It made me feel bolder.

Compton had one leg over the chair arm & his head thrown back. He gazed up at the ceiling. “For God's sake, sir, are you in or out?”

Four knaves. A good hand. The best hand all night. But if I wrote another note .  .  .

“How much do I owe you?” My voice was hoarse. He shrugged. “Fifty or so.” Fifty guineas! I didn't have it. I'd never have it. And yet this was my chance to make all even. To win, & get out, & never fall into this wretched folly again. I hated myself with a fierce hatred, & I loathed him, his smirk, his clothes.

I took the pen & wrote. A hundred guineas.

“You will ask your master for it?”

“Of course.” It was a lie & we both knew it. I would never ask Forrest. I could not bear his anger, & his pity.

Compton shrugged. He was lounging so far back that the sumptuous chair teetered on its legs.

“Very well. Let's see your hand. It had better be good, Zac.”

My head was pounding. My mouth felt like chalk. I placed each one of my knaves down with unsteady fingers, & stared at their triumphant little line. “There. I believe you cannot beat that, my lord.”

He gazed at me & his eyes were quite clear. “And what if I can?”

He was bluffing. He had to be. Yet a cold quiver went through me. “Then I'm finished.”

He nodded. He took one card & laid it down. It was the King of Hearts. “I am very good at cards, Zac. I have had a great deal of practice.” He laid down the King of Cudgels. “I spent most of my time at Oxford practicing. In truth I have a degree in the subject.” The third card was turned. I sat rigid, watching it. It was the King of Diamonds.

He looked at me over the littered table. The candles had guttered low; drops of hissing wax spatted on the money from the melting masses above.

“Shall I turn the fourth card, Zac? Shall I destroy you?” His hand hovered over the stained pasteboard. “Or shall I say I have lost, and let you off?”

“You may not have the card.”

“I have it.”

I faced him. His chair was upright now; we were face-to-face across the circle of light & all the rest of the world was darkness.

I could not help it. My pride scorched me. To lose to him would be unbearable, but to have his pity would leave me nothing of myself. “I don't believe you,” I said.

He was silent. The noises from the room beyond seemed far & remote. I knew I had angered him. I wanted to. And as he shrugged & flipped the fourth card over I felt nothing for a moment, & then a great exhaustion & a deafness & blindness as if all the world had narrowed to that checkered King of Spades holding its rigid sword.

“So you see, Zac”—he leaned back—“all your brave talk comes to nothing.”

For a moment then, I really wished to murder him. To snatch out the sword-stick & run him through, flee into the streets & vanish. But I had been seen by too many. I would have to kill myself as well.

“It's an unfair world we live in.” His manicured fingers gathered the money & the notes idly, coin by coin. “Because, of course, I don't need your pitiable wages. Or the hundred guineas you now owe me.”

I was cleaned out & he knew it. I poured a glass of the claret & drank it off. The wine scorched my aching brain; its warm comfort brought heat to my face. “My pockets are empty & I have nothing to pay you with.” I tried to sound off-hand; indeed I thrust my fingers into my waistcoat in fuddled scorn & found a small round thing there lodged in the lining, & drew it out.

I tossed it down in disgust. “Your payment, sir.”

It was the acorn I had picked up at Stanton Drew. It rolled against the cards & lay still.

Compton didn't laugh. Instead he leaned back & gazed at me. His scrutiny was hard. He said, “Perhaps that is a payment I might take.”

“What?”

“The oak is the druids' tree, I believe. Your master has it on his coat-of-arms.”

“Forrest?”

“Forrest.” He leaned forward. “For my payment, Zac, you can give me Forrest. And I will tear your debts into pieces before your face.”

I sat very still. Then I said, “I don't understand. What does he have that you don't?”

Compton smiled. His dark hair was still smooth & barely disarrayed, whereas mine was a tragic tangle. He said, “This new project .  .  .”

“The Circus.”

“Indeed. It interests me.”

“But you laughed it off! You wouldn't invest .  .  .”

“Not on his terms. Not to share with him & Alleyn & that fool Greye. But alone, yes, I would build that circle of stone. I would make the world turn & stare at it. Compton's Circus. And when I had built one & made it the height of fashion, I would build others. In London, & Edinburgh, & Newcastle. And the rents I would charge, Zac! All the world would pay through the nose to live there. Because, like you, I recognize a brilliant idea when I see it.”

I could not believe this. My fuddled brain wandered. “But I don't see what I .  .  .”

I stopped.

He nodded. “Yes, you do. Forrest's Circus must fail. The stone must be too costly. The builders must let him down. Men of fashion must snub him.” He sipped from his glass. “I have already begun that, with talk of his scandalous household. I knew he would take the girl in. He is so easy to predict.”

“You  .  .  .
She works for you?
”

“Let's say dear Sylvia will do anything I tell her to do. With no investors Forrest will be hard-pressed for money. He will not be able to afford mistakes. And there will be mistakes, Zac. Small accidents on site. Costly errors.” He raised the glass. “You'll make sure of that.”

I stood. Or tried to. It was not as dignified as I would have wished. “He is my master.”

“Oh, come. You despise him. Don't you?”

“I have  .  .  . I don't  .  .  .”

“You despise him & this is your chance to be free. He need know nothing. You sabotage the work, he despairs, you suggest selling the design. Then you let me know when he is ready. When all is done, you come & work with me. As my architect. Two young men, out to make their names.” He grinned. “And your father will be rich again.”

The room reeled.

I had no words. I groped after my coat & sword, & flung them on.

“You don't say no,” he said softly.

For a moment I paused. Then I stumbled to the door, opened it & crashed through, into the smoke & noise of the assembly rooms.

• • •

I suppose I walked home. I have no memory of it, or of climbing the stairs. But I must have, because when I opened my eyes I was sprawled on my bed in my shirt & breeches with a headache that made me gasp. My neck was cricked. I felt as sick as a mongrel after a night in the town dump. The curtains were wide & the sun shone straight in my face. I suppose I must have groaned.

“I'm not surprised,” a voice said coldly.

I managed to turn my head. Forrest & Sylvia stood in the doorway of my room. My master came forward & looked down at me, his arms folded. “God, Zac, look at the state of you! What sort of assistant am I employing?”

I tried to speak. A crack'd whisper came out.

Forrest sighed. Then he turned to Sylvia. “I have to go. This morning we begin the transport of the stone. Do what you can to get him presentable.”

He was halfway out before I croaked, “Wait!”

He turned.

“The stone  .  .  .” My throat was dry; I swallowed. “Do you mean Ralph Alleyn is still  .  .  .”

“Master Alleyn is my true friend. He is selling me the stone & his wagons will begin bringing it down the hill today.” Forrest's dark eyes watched me; I noticed he was dressed for work in his oldest brown coat. “I told you I will build the Circus, Zac, & I intend to do it. Now please, get yourself to a decent state & attend me on the site. I shall have things to say to you.”