The Equivoque Principle (10 page)

A
LITTLE OVER AN
hour later the rehearsals had concluded, and Grosvenor Park station gradually returned to a semblance of normality. Each of the performers was enjoying a well-earned break from their duties and practising, and they congregated in small packs. They were sitting cross-legged on the station platform, some on the wooden benches, or atop stacks of luggage and canvas-covered circus equipment. Almost like a nomadic desert encampment, the small, scattered cliques were alive with pleasant chatter, idle gossip and good-natured warmth, not unlike most families. Seated within a throng of performers including Yin, Yang, Jeremiah, Peregrine and Kipo, young Ruby Marstrand sipped at a small metal cup of steaming tea, and tapped her feet against the ground incessantly. She was frustrated, and in no mood to hide her feelings.

‘Something up, Rubes?’ asked Jeremiah. ‘Or are you trying to burrow all the way to Australia?’

‘Hmm?’ she asked distractedly. ‘Oh, sorry, Jerry, it’s just…all this waiting around. I want to be out there getting my hands dirty searching for Prometheus. How much longer do we have to wait? He could be anywhere by now, and it’ll take us ages to get back to Crawditch.’

‘You’re not going back to Crawditch,’ said a voice behind her.

Ruby swallowed hard as she saw Cornelius Quaint approaching her. His cold, steely expression immediately deflected any accusatory comments. His was the type of stare to silence even the greatest critic.

‘We’re not? How come?’ Ruby asked.

‘Because, Ruby, you and the rest of the crew are needed in Hyde Park getting things ready,’ Quaint answered. ‘We’ve still got a circus to put together, remember?’

‘We are not going out to search for Prometheus?’ asked Yang.

‘Correct, Yang,’ confirmed Quaint.
‘We
are not. Butter and I will suffice for now. As well as in the park setting up the tents, I need someone stationed here should Prometheus return to the train. It’s a safe bet that we’ll be having the company of some policemen soon.’

‘To stop us driving the train away, I’ll bet,’ added Yin.

‘Yes, well, if we wish to exonerate Prometheus, we must be careful not to add fuel to the fire. Commissioner Dray can be a conflagration all to himself,’ agreed Quaint. ‘Now, whilst Butter and I are absent, I am relying on the fact that everyone knows their roles and responsibilities. Madame Destine is on hand, should you require her assistance. We have promised London a circus this coming Friday, ladies and gentlemen—and I for one intend to deliver.’

‘But Mr Q, how are we supposed to do the show without Prometheus or Twinkle?’ asked Ruby. ‘It just won’t be the same.’

‘We will continue as normal, and hide the cracks as best we can—as Twinkle would have wanted. This circus was her life, and we must honour what she stood for. If I know Twinkle, she would want us to go out there and knock London’s socks off! Prometheus will be found long before Friday’s matinée show, of that I am sure.’

‘Will you still be requiring me, Mr Quaint?’ asked Kipo.

‘Oh, yes! You and Rajah are still very
much
required,’ said Quaint. ‘I have a most important job for you, as a matter of fact.’

Yin patted Kipo on the back. ‘The boss is taking Rajah out on the town with him to search for Prometheus, isn’t that right, Mr Quaint?’

Quaint stroked his jaw pensively, as Kipo looked on aghast. ‘As tempted as I am to see how Londoners would react to a tiger loose in their midst—Rajah’s staying put, Kipo, so you may relax. He’s a tiger, not a bloodhound, and he happens to be a very visible deterrent should the police decide to come and take a look inside my train,’ Quaint turned on his heels. ‘Now, where’s Mr Barracks?’

‘Down here, boss,’ called the train mechanic, crawling on his hands and knees down under the engine. ‘Up to me eyeballs in muck ’n’ grime as usual.’

‘I should have guessed,’ Quaint chimed. ‘So, what’s your prognosis on our faithful transport then?’

‘Well, Bessie’s been through a lot, boss. She needs a total overhaul, if I’m bein’ honest,’ said the engineer, wiping a glistening trail of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. ‘I’ll need another day on the manifold, and the transmission’s been shot since we left Edinburgh. She’s held together by sheer stubbornness alone.’

‘I know the feeling,’ said Quaint. ‘Good work, man. Keep at it. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Destine anywhere, have you?’

‘The last I saw, she was on a bench at the far end of the platform,’ answered Barracks. ‘That lady could do with good night’s sleep, if you ask me. She looks shattered.’

Quaint cast his eyes through the smoke of the station platform. He saw Destine sitting detachedly alone in the distance. ‘You noticed that too, eh?’ he asked.

‘Hard not to,’ said Barracks. ‘When a lady glows as brightly as
she does, it’s obvious when she loses her shine, you know what I mean?’

‘As a matter of fact, Barracks,’ said Quaint. ‘I do. You know how guarded she is…it is no easy feat getting her to admit it if she feels weary.’

Barracks nodded. ‘You ain’t wrong there, boss. She’s like you; she’ll just keep soldiering on until something breaks. She’s no spring chicken any more, not that I’d have the balls to tell her that, of course,’ Barracks said with a throaty guffaw. ‘You know you’re the only one who can get through to her.’

‘Hmm,’ agreed Quaint. ‘Perhaps it is time that I tried harder, eh?’

Quaint turned away from Barracks and made his way along the platform to where Destine was seated. She looked up in surprise as Quaint approached her.

‘Hello, sunshine,’ he said. ‘How do you feel?’

Destine smiled. ‘How do I
feel?
Have you been talking to Ray Barracks again?’

‘Always the fortune-teller, eh?’

‘Barracks is a sweet man.’

‘He cares for you a great deal, Madame…but do I detect a little mutual fancy?’

‘Nonsense, Cornelius! I am old enough to be his…well, let’s just say I am more
senior
in years than he is. I am far too old for romance—let alone Ray Barracks!’

Quaint lifted Destine’s hand and kissed it gently. ‘Love is blind to age, Madame.’

‘So what brings you here, Cupid?’

‘Well…actually, I would appreciate your opinion on something, as it goes.’

‘My opinion seems to be in high demand today,’ Destine said. ‘I am honoured. What can I do for you?’

‘Ah, would you care to take a walk with me?’ asked Quaint. ‘Somewhere out of earshot, I mean.’

He led Destine along the station platform, to a solitary wooden bench, away from the main congregation of circus folk. Quaint rummaged around inside his overcoat and produced a folded piece of paper.

‘What do you make of this?’ he said.

Destine knew instantly what it was, but still felt compelled to ask.

‘Cornelius—is this the note we saw at the police station? The one found near Twinkle’s body? Where on earth did you get it?’

Quaint smiled wanly. ‘No one has quicker fingers than I, Madame.’

‘But that’s
stealing!
That’s police evidence,’ shrieked Destine into her hands.

‘Yes, I know that,’ said Quaint without batting an eyelid.
‘Evidence
that I’m hoping you can make use of. From a sensitive’s point of view, I’m curious as to your take on the sentiment, the emotion behind it all.’

As well as clairvoyant, the Frenchwoman was highly sensitive to the emotions of others, and sometimes felt what they felt, saw what they saw. Usually this translated into faint, almost non-existent feelings, as identical twins such as Yin and Yang had experienced when one of them was in pain. There had been odd occasions when the flash of emotion was so strong that the Frenchwoman was almost rendered unconscious. It was a gift very different from the ability to read fortunes and was far more dangerous, far more uncertain, and Destine only attempted it when it was absolutely necessary.

She traced her fingers across the almost childlike writing of the letter. ‘I sense a high degree of hatred for Prometheus for one thing,’ she said, ‘A very personal hatred.’

‘That’s plainly evident, Madame,’ Quaint nodded. ‘Anything else?’

Madame Destine closed her eyes, commanding her sensitive gift to work. ‘Very personal, very…angry, but that is also obvious,’ she said with certainty. ‘There is nothing more evident, nothing at all. It is cold.’

‘And yet the letter is the epitome of emotion, don’t you think? Is that not your area of speciality? I had hoped you would be able to sense a lot more of the murderer’s resonance from his words…allow me to paint a picture of him.’

Madame Destine nodded thoughtfully. ‘Usually, perhaps I could. But this killer is different—the man we can presume is this Hawkspear—he certainly knows how to leave his scars, doesn’t he? Physically and mentally, it seems.’

Quaint’s black eyes narrowed. ‘He could have been hunting Prometheus from the moment he set foot in Crawditch, and that’s what worries me the most.’ Quaint motioned to the array of people gathered in scattered groups on the platform. ‘In that letter he said he was going to destroy everyone whom Prometheus loves, remember? Perhaps Twinkle was just the first target? When I look at those people over there…I can’t help but think each and every one of them is also a potential victim—myself included.’

‘It would not be the first time you have had an enemy,
mon cher.’

‘No, but I usually get to see the whites of their eyes before they try and kill me. This one’s going to be hard to track down. He’s elusive…faceless…like a mirage. I’ll tell you this, Madame, wherever Prometheus is, I hope he’s not in any danger…and that’s why I need you to try and sense him again.’

Quaint had no idea how Destine was able to do the things she
could do, see the things she saw, feel the things she felt. As far as he was concerned, Destine had a gift, and that was that, and he was perfectly happy with his ignorance.

‘As a matter of fact, Cornelius, I was hoping to find time to discuss something with you myself,’ Destine said softly. ‘My visions are behaving erratically. I am not sure how much we can rely on them. And I have been experiencing strange messages again…about a ghost from the past.’

‘Again? I do wish you would let that drop,’ laughed Quaint. ‘Look around you, Madame; these aren’t the backstreets of Morocco, or the squalid shanties of India. We’re in London—a city that I’ve hardly set foot in for years! I hardly think
anyone
would have a grudge against me here.’

‘I am starting to believe you,’ Destine said.

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Something has been bothering me…a nagging thought really, but it makes me think that perhaps I misinterpreted my previous messages. Taking into consideration how unreliable these visions have been, I am starting to think that this ghost has not risen from your past…but my own.’

‘Madame, that’s ridiculous!’ said Quaint. ‘Not only are you far less likely than I to have enemies, but here in England? Certainly not. If we were sitting outside a coffee house in La Rochelle, surrounded by a gaggle of women, angered at you for your beauty, then yes…I may be prepared to concede that thought. But it is simply not so, Madame.’

‘You seem very certain of my abilities, Cornelius,’ Destine said calmly. ‘Far more so than I, it seems. As you requested, I have been attempting to gain some connection with Prometheus’s emotions since we returned from Crawditch. It has been difficult, with
some
success. Short bursts, nothing solid. I wanted to try and make a little more sense of them before I told you.’

‘And have you?’

‘Barely,’ admitted Destine. ‘They are like a foreign language. The feelings are certainly confusing, unlike anything I have previously experienced. I feel so wrong-footed, no matter where I step. I just do not know what to believe.’

Quaint nodded in understanding. ‘Well, that is understandable, Madame. None of us expected to be drawn into this web as we have been. We are all at the mercy of circumstance. I am surprised at Prometheus for one thing…why in God’s name did he escape? What was he thinking? Or did someone provoke him—is that who melted the cell’s bars? Another party?’ Quaint rested his hand upon hers. ‘Who knows
what
happened—and that’s why I’m so reliant on what you can receive from Prometheus. I know it is hard for you, Destine, I really do—but if only you could make contact with him…perhaps you could get some clue as to his state of mind.’

‘Cornelius, I told you that I have been trying to sense Prometheus constantly, but it is difficult,’ Destine said. ‘It is like looking at molten lava, and someone telling me to put my hand into it. They tell me that it will not burn, and yet I do not believe them. I am scared, my sweet…I feel as if my messages are willingly betraying me. I do not know if I can trust them.’

‘Madame…we have no other choice.’

Destine’s lips floundered silently. ‘I…I will try, Cornelius…but do not blame me if all I see is nonsense. I know you care for Prometheus a great deal.’

‘You don’t need a crystal ball to tell you that.’

‘And you are not alone. We are all feeling as though we are at the mercy of something beyond our power to affect, and we have no choice but to give in.’