The Custodian of Marvels (21 page)

“I’ve been slow to progress. Too much time greasing locks and not enough time greasing palms. That’s what my wife used to say. She said any other locksmith with my skill would have gone faster.”

“Did she mind that?”

“She said it would’ve been better if we were further in. But she said that wasn’t the man she married. And she didn’t want any other.”

A sudden breeze shifted my hair. I inhaled the smell of the rain and heard it hissing towards us, a grey veil sweeping across the courtyard. In an instant everything outside was wet. Lightning flashed. I counted twelve seconds until the thunder. The wind was blowing the rain inside. I stepped back from the window, into the dry, but Jeremiah remained.

“Did you pass examinations?” I asked.

“Many. In the first few years it was easy. Your master puts you through the first, at the end of your apprenticeship. And there are plenty enough places in the outer circles of the guild. But once you get further in – a master locksmith – each circle has less seats than the last. And one Grand Master appoints the next. They say big money changes hands for that. Or it’s a family member who gets the place.

“So I’ve been in my circle three years and no chance of sitting an examination. Then one of the High Masters comes to me – came to my very workshop – and he says there’s a chance he can get me examined in the autumn. One of the candidates had withdrawn. I thought my life was about to change. One circle further in and it would be me people came to for advancement. So I agreed. He had the papers with him, which I signed there and then.

“After he left, my wife came rushing down to the workshop to ask whose coach it had been in the courtyard. I told her. She kissed me and said that it seemed justice was to be done and how proud she was.

“A locksmith should always be looking for false keyholes. You can see a hundred locks and they’ll all be simple. Then one comes along that looks as if it was bought for three shillings. But when you try to pick it, you find, underneath the cheap iron, a thing of craft and cunning. Maybe it sets off a time lock or an alarm, or a knife springs out to cut your hand.

“Three days after I signed the papers, a friend comes to me and says did I know the High Master’s nephew is to be examined in the autumn. None of the other candidates would have a chance, he said. Then I saw what he’d done, that High Master. Because only one candidate goes through. And at this level, once you’re examined, if you fail you can never be examined again. The test would be fixed. The High Master’s nephew couldn’t be allowed to fail.”

The rain had been falling fast and heavy. It gurgled in the gutters. It rushed, white, from the bottom of the downpipes, bubbling onto the cobblestones and away into drains. Jeremiah’s sleeves dripped. The floorboards under the window had darkened. Thunder rumbled around the city and the clouds flickered with lightning.

“Hadn’t you better close the shutters?” I asked.

“I want to see it,” he said.

Abruptly, the rain intensified. Water began to cascade directly from the roof. I could no longer see the cobblestones in the yard. All was a mass of dancing water. The scene flickered brilliant white and for a blink Jeremiah became a silhouette. The house shook with the impact of the thunder.

“Come away from the window!”

I pulled at his arm, dragging him back so that he was standing on the dry floorboards. More flashes lit the window. I unhooked the shutters and swung them closed, then led him to the armchair. He sat, but only when I pushed him back.

“I’m angry,” he said, his voice soft.

“And with good reason – if they marked his paper unfairly.”

“There is no paper. Only locks to be opened.”

“Then they gave the easiest lock to him?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “They’re all the same. The first candidate to complete the task is the one who passes to the next circle.”

“Then how was the contest fixed?”

“They would have shown him the locks beforehand. He would have been schooled in them. I was cheated and now must remain outside.”

“Then your motive is revenge?” I asked.

“What use are oaths sworn to people who have no honour?”

I became aware of water dripping on the floor next to my foot. The slates were letting the rain through. The roof space would be sodden.

“You have your answer,” said Jeremiah. “Now go. Tell the dwarf if you must. But no one else.”

I found two more leaks on my way to the stairs. Water was pooling on the stone floor of the workshop, though I couldn’t see where it was coming from. I started to push the door open and felt the storm battering it back. Rain lashed at my face through the gap. Water lapped over my shoes. I looked down and saw that it was flooding in from the courtyard. Stepping out, I found myself ankle deep. After two paces it was up to my calf muscles. I jumped back inside and closed the door. Water still flowed in underneath, though not as fast.

Retreating, I sat on the lowest stair. My hair and sleeves dripped. If inches of water stood in the yard, it would surely be deeper on the road, which lay below it. I shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the thought of the filth that must be rising from the sewers.

Water was inching over the flagstones. I backed up another couple of steps and watched as it crept towards me. In half an hour the entire floor would be covered. Yet such was Jeremiah’s distress, I didn’t want to go back up to him. Therefore, I climbed to the turn of the stairs, where there was more room, and curled up as best I could.

Since I could not sleep, I thought about the story Jeremiah had told me. It was the undoubted truth. Money would never be sufficient motive for such an artist to give up on his craft. But the guild had betrayed him. That he would turn against them was no surprise. He had taken his oaths believing the guild to be a thing of high ideals. When he discovered the truth, how sour those oaths would have tasted.

There was corruption in the guild and corruption also in the Patent Office. The two institutions had become deeply intertwined.

The Patent Office had rewritten history. In doing so, they’d created secrets that would become more toxic the longer they were held. I remembered the fear in Professor Ferdinand’s eyes as he told me what he’d discovered. A little revolution isn’t always a bad thing, he’d said. But if these secrets escaped, it could trigger a revolution that might sweep away the order of the world.

The biggest secrets require the best locks and the most skilled of locksmiths. But what happens when one of those locksmiths believes himself betrayed?

Fabulo’s offer must have seemed like the perfect opportunity to Jeremiah. The only way the court building could be broken into would be with the guild’s secret knowledge. The Patent Office would know that. Whatever special privileges the locksmiths had enjoyed might well be pulled away.

A satisfying revenge.

One niggling doubt remained. I didn’t understand why Jeremiah had held back his true story from Fabulo. With that question on my mind, I slipped into a fitful sleep.

I awoke in near darkness, aware that something had changed outside. Thunder still rumbled, but it was distant. The shutters no longer rattled. The steady rhythm of dripping water inside the house sounded louder than before. Realising that I was sitting in water, panic touched me. But looking down, I could make out the flood level in the workshop, not much deeper than it had been. The puddle at the top of the stairs must have over-spilled and cascaded down to where I slept.

It was as I stood, dripping, that the answer to the question came to me. I found myself climbing the stairs.

The shutters had been opened. Moonlight caught the side of Jeremiah’s face as he stared out. He did not turn as I stepped across to join him. Stars shone in half the sky.

“I couldn’t get through the flood,” I said.

“I know.”

He pointed towards the south where a column of smoke was rising. “Lightning strike.”

“Will the fire spread?”

“I doubt it.”

“Your workshop’s flooded. And your roof leaks.”

“I do know that.”

“When will the water go down?” I asked.

“It’s going down already. Might be a couple of hours before you can get through.”

For a minute we stood in silence. Perhaps he was thinking of his lost wife. It would surely have been her who arranged for such details as the fixing of roofs.

I had a question to ask. It had come to me out of nothing. Perhaps I’d dreamed it. But I could see no way of phrasing it that wouldn’t cause him pain.

“I think your story about the examination was true,” I said.

He did glance at me then, annoyed. “Well, thank you!”

“But you were still deceiving.”

“I was not!”

“I think you’ve been deceiving yourself.”

“I think you’d better go!”

“I will. But first tell me why you hid your real motive from Fabulo. You say you wanted revenge on the guild? Revenge should be made of stronger stuff.”

He flinched. “I just didn’t want him to know.”

“You told me you were angry the High Master cheated, that he helped his nephew win.”

“Yes!”

“I think it’s the other way around. Somewhere deep in your mind you’re afraid he didn’t cheat. Because if the test was fair, it’d mean you just weren’t good enough to pass it.”

Jeremiah shook his head, but didn’t speak. The annoyance on his face had turned to pain.

I pressed on, though it felt cruel. “The thought that you’d failed in a fair test was so terrible, you couldn’t admit it. And you couldn’t talk to Fabulo about the examination, because it was too close to the real truth.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, but with no conviction.

“It was easy for you to agree to the plan when it seemed impossible. But with each barrier that’s been removed, it’s become more real to you. And that fear, which you can’t admit to – it’s grown stronger. It wasn’t the men-at-arms that frightened you off. It was the bit of you that thinks you’re not good enough to crack the locks we’ll find once we get inside.”

“Why… why are you saying this?”

“To remind you of the reason that made you agree in the first place. If you
could
break into the International Patent Court, if you cracked the locks that your rank in the guild hasn’t let you see – it’d prove you
were
good enough to pass the exam. And that would prove they cheated.”

“You’re taunting me.”

“No. I’m trying to save you. I’ve been running from a monster since as long as I can remember. I kept running because there was always somewhere I might escape to. But the faster I went, the closer he followed. Then – it was a few days ago – I needed to run and there were no more roads. So I turned to face him. That was when I started to understand. I’d been carrying him around in my head all those years. The fear of him. That’s why I could never escape. But when I looked him square in the face, he wasn’t inside me anymore.

“He’s still a monster. And he’s still chasing. More than ever. I’d be a fool if I wasn’t afraid. But I feel lighter because I’m not carrying him with me.

“You have it the same, but worse. Because your fear’s different. There’s always going to be another road for you to run down. That means you’ll carry it with you to your grave. Unless you turn around and stare it in the face.”

It seemed he had aged ten years as I’d been speaking. “So-be-it,” he said. “Now please go. I want to be alone.”

The walk back to St John’s was long. Mud and slime coated the cobblestones, making every step a challenge. Several times I had to detour to avoid roads still flooded. The sun rose into a sky washed clear. The oppressive heat had mercifully gone with the storm, but there was warmth enough for my clothes to dry on me. Mud began to cake on my shoes and ankles. My feet seemed twice their size and more than twice their weight.

Wanting to delay my meeting with the others, I found a cafe in which to spend my coins. The ground floor was thick with filth, but the upper storey was open. I sat for an hour, nursing a pot of Ceylon tea. The scones were stale and there was no cream to go with them, because of the flood, the manager said. But I hadn’t eaten since the previous morning so they tasted delicious, particularly when heaped with strawberry preserve.

The direct route being closed to me, I crossed the river at London Bridge and then cut east along Lower Thames Street until I was back on familiar ground. With heavy feet, I climbed the steps of our tenement. The bedroom was empty, so I continued up to the attic where I knocked on a roof beam, two times light and three times heavy. The answering knock came back. Light shone from the hole in the end wall. Ellie and Lara came scrambling out and took turns to throw their arms around me.

“You’re safe!”

“We worried for you, Lizzy!”

“When the rain came… we were all aflood.”

“Them holes we’d made in the roof!”

“We put the slates back, but still it came!”

“And we thought you’d be drowned for sure!”

“I need to talk to Fabulo,” I said, extricating myself from their embrace.

“He’s inside,” said Lara. “Talking to the locksmith.”

“You’ve found a new locksmith?” I asked.

“Whyever would we do that?”

At which point I turned and saw Jeremiah crawling out through the hole in the wall.

“You took your time,” he said.

CHAPTER 19

October 8th

If the catcher of the bullet chooses the moment, it is called conjuring. If the shooter chooses the moment, it is called murder. Never let them rush you ahead of your plan.

The Bullet-Catcher’s Handbook

Fabulo called the meeting to order by rapping his knuckle on the upturned tea chest. There was no need for him to do it. We had been seated in a loose circle on the floor, watching as he paced the attic room, waiting for him to start. But something felt right about the formality of it nonetheless. For the first time, it seemed to me, we were all of us together. All focused on the same goal.

“This is it, comrades,” he said. “Some of you have been with me on this for longer than others. But here we are. The number’s complete. And it’s been decided between Jeremiah and me that we’re all going to be equal partners. Whatever comes of this enterprise, we each get the same share. That’s because the danger’s the same for all. And what we’ve put up front in risk – that’s been equal too.