The Mandarin of Mayfair (32 page)

Just inside, a candle burned on a stone bench. It threw a very small circle of light, but he took it up gratefully as he pursued the disappearing individual he believed to be Lord Hibbard Green.

He was in a wide hall, a place of pitchy darkness and clammy cold. The cellar of the original Sundial Abbey, no doubt, of which the home of The Dancing Master was probably a part. The air was musty, the silence absolute save for Green's fading footsteps. He was obliged to run when the candlelight he followed vanished. His haste almost brought disaster; Green had turned a corner and Falcon found himself teetering at the edge of a steep flight of steps winding downward. Panting, as he regained his balance, he sprinted to catch up and almost collided with Green who had turned another corner and stopped to throw open a door.

His chance to slip away was gone. There they were; the other four hooded and masked gentlemen of treason, sitting at a table that appeared to date from the construction of the room, and staring at him.

'Treed, by the Lord Harry!" he thought, and wondered how the devil he was to get out of this.

"What a'God's name ails you?" bellowed Green.

Falcon snatched out his handkerchief and sneezed. "This curst cold," he moaned.

"You said nothing of it in the boat," said the man at the head of the table, his tone sharp with annoyance.

"Seems t'be getting worse." Falcon's gaze raked the cold bare room. It was furnished only with a massive and ancient credenza, six chairs, and the table, in the center of which another lighted candle struck sparkles from the five jewelled miniatures, one set in front of each man. He had expected something more grand, yet in a macabre fashion it was appropriate that here, in this musty darkness, hooded and cloaked, trusting not even each other, the League of Jewelled Men spun the webs that brought death and destruction to so many.

The short member with the topaz studded miniature before him said, "Then be good enough to turn your head from me."

Falcon grunted. This end of the table was closest to the outer door, which Green had closed but not locked. If he had to make a dash for it, this position might give him some slight advantage.

Green took his place which luckily left only one chair unoccupied. Falcon drew it farther from Topaz and sat down. Silence. Eyes glinted at him through the slots of masks. He was supposed to do something. "Jupiter! My token!" he thought, and hurriedly retrieved it and set it up in front of him.

The silence was unbroken. Still, they all watched him.

Panicky, he thought, "Now what?" and sneezed again, this time involuntarily, and with such force that he blew out his candle.

The man at the head of the table said dryly, "You took your time."

This must be the mighty Squire. Evidently "Ruby" had been expected to extinguish his candle upon entering the room. Relieved, he shrugged in a gesture of helplessness and apology.

The Squire said, "Our last meeting in this place, gentlemen! Our long years of waiting are almost done!"

Cheers and much shouting and back-pounding.

It occurred to Falcon that if this was their last meeting, they might decide to unmask, in which case he would have to get out very fast indeed. He could blow out the candle with another sneeze, and be through the door before—

The large man he guessed to be Rudolph Bracksby asked, "Does that mean all goes as planned at Ashleigh?"

Ashleigh
? Falcon tensed and sat motionless, all thought of retreat at once abandoned.

"Better than planned, Emerald," said the Squire with a chuckle. "Sir Brian Chandler actually condescended to leave his beloved Lac Brillant and grace the gathering!"

There was a burst of laughter at this. A chill crept down Falcon's spine. What deviltry were these bastards contriving now?

He was sure he'd identified all but two of the varmints. The larger of them, with a figurine that gleamed blue in the candlelight, peered at Falcon curiously. "You fail to see the joke, Ruby?"

Falcon sighed. "So would you if you had my throat," he said thickly.

The Squire stood. "I've something that will help your throat, my friend. Tonight, we complete our map, plan our final coup, and—celebrate! Let's to business."

Emerald took up the candle and they all stood and trooped after the Squire. Trailing behind, Falcon wondered uneasily where they were off to. The end wall was of stone blocks that shone damply in the candlelight. It contained neither door nor windows, the surface broken only by a shallow arched recess enclosing what appeared to be a marble washbowl built at waist level and edged by a band of intricately carved stone.

He wondered cynically if there was to be some kind of baptismal ceremony, but his levity vanished when the Squire suddenly drew out a long-barreled pistol and held it cocked and ready. "For the last time, my friends," he murmured.

Each of the men facing him held up their figurines, Falcon hastening to join what he at first judged to be a childish ritual. Bracksby, or Emerald, gave the candle to the Squire, and stepped forward. He placed his miniature in the center of a rose carved in the rim of the bowl, then moved back. The large unknown individual fitted a token of lapis-lazuli and sapphires into a slot beside a leaf.

Falcon's blood ran cold. So this was all done by rote and not only did he not know when his turn came, but he hadn't the faintest notion where his filched figurine belonged! He began to sweat as Hibbard Green placed his opal figure in the center of a flower. Nobody looked at Falcon. The silent minutes seemed to stretch out interminably. Was it his turn now? About to move forward, he restrained himself in the nick of time as the short member deposited his golden crystal and topaz figurine in the loop of a stem.

Falcon's nerves were tight and strained. There were only two of them left now. Himself, and the Squire, who watched him steadily. Surely, the last move would be reserved for the leader? He thought, "Dearest Grandmama, guide me," and stepped forward. If that trigger finger tightened, he might still have a second in which to blow out the candle and run for it.

There was no outcry.

Praise heaven, he must have guessed rightly! He bent over the bowl. Next hurdle—where to put the confounded object? There was an indentation in the very center of the bowl. That, surely would be the Squire's place. Or would it? Might it instead be a very logical trap? There had been two tokens placed in flowers, one in a leaf, one amongst the stems, and there was the center slot. He scanned the carvings around the rim. Ruby's place might very well be somewhere other than flowers and leaves. He thought in desperation, "You're taking too much time, dammit!" roared a sneeze and contrived to drop his figurine in the bowl. Retrieving it, he saw another slot in the very front of the rim in the center of what looked to be an acorn.

He had his choice. The center slot, or the acorn, and again, his life hung on the right move. His thought of Grandmama Natasha became a prayer for help. He set his token in the slot in the middle of the bowl, and watched for the movement of that deadly trigger.

Green's brutish voice growled, "Well, stand aside do, Ruby! 'Sblood, but you're dense tonight!"

Sweating, Falcon moved back and drew his handkerchief. Another test passed. How many more?

The Squire gave his pistol to Bracksby, and held up his jewelled figurine. It was a striking piece; a deep amethyst set with four large diamonds. Bracksby trained the pistol on him as he positioned the little figure in the acorn.

Falcon heard a muted rattling, and the bowl seemed to him to move slightly. "Be damned!" he thought. "The little icons are keys to a blasted great lock!"

Bracksby returned the pistol to the Squire. Sapphire and Opal pushed at the wall above the bowl, and with a soft scraping sound the entire alcove swung back to reveal a pitch black chamber beyond. Falcon's nostrils wrinkled to a foetid stench so powerful that it snatched his breath away. It was evidently not unusual because nobody commented. He retrieved his miniature from the bowl as the others did, but his hope that they were not going into that stinking hole was short-lived.

The Squire said, "Are you brave tonight, Ruby?" and handed him the lighted candle. "Cheer up! We've a fine candelabrum in there now."

Hibbard Green sneered, "Go on, Sir Galahad. They've likely already gone, sooner than risk catching your cold."

He was clearly expected to lead the way. Darkness didn't unnerve him, but—who were "they"?

He walked inside. The air was disgusting and so thin that it was an effort to breathe. The flickering candlelight shone upon a silver candelabrum overturned in the center of the table. Six fairly modern chairs were positioned around it. There was a massive chest against the left-hand wall, and two more chairs flanked a credenza on the opposite wall. He was evidently required to light the candles. He walked over to the table and reached out. Something lean and dark, with a long pointed nose and a whip of a tail darted from behind the fallen candelabrum. His heart seemed to stop. His brain screamed, "A
rat!"
My God in heaven! A
rat
!" The one thing of which he was deathly afraid! And almost he had touched it! He felt weak and nauseated, and had a stunned thought that it was a good thing he was masked, for he was sure he'd turned white. His need to escape was overpowering and he had to clench his fist until the bones ached to keep from shrieking his terror and running madly from this nightmarish place.

Somebody laughed, and a hand snatched the candle. He couldn't make out what was said, but despite the mockery it was clear that they all were revolted by this room.

The Squire tossed a rag at him. "Here, see if you've enough courage left to clear off the table."

Fighting waves of sick dizziness, Falcon made himself wipe dust and droppings from the tabletop. There had just been one. It was gone now. They mustn't see how his hands trembled. He'd promised poor Jamie, and to allow a childish fear to defeat him would be unforgivable. Besides, he
must
find out what they meant about Ashleigh…

Now that the rest of the candles were burning he could see that the room was large and low-ceilinged and that there were no windows or any normal kind of door. Opal and Sapphire, both big men, started to push the alcove shut, but Topaz, a scented kerchief held to his nose, protested and said they could surely let some air in "this grisly dungeon" for a few minutes. The Squire nodded, and the alcove was left a few inches ajar. There was an identical bowl on the inside, which likely meant they'd have to go through the whole unlocking rigamarole again in order to leave. It became unpleasantly clear to Falcon that once the alcove was closed his chance of escape in an emergency would be nil. Common sense whispered that he should get out now, on whatever pretext, before that deadly "door" swung shut. But that was the coward's way and must not be heeded.

The Squire took a seat and pulled a folded map from his cloak pocket. They all gathered 'round to inspect it, and joining them Falcon thought "Jupiter! 'Tis practically identical to the map Ross drew up!" In place of X's the sites of the League's pilfered estates were indicated by red squares, each shaded in and connected by lines drawn to adjacent blue circles marked by initials. Military objectives, of course. He scanned the map narrowly. There were more sites than Gideon had guessed. A large one in north Devon, another some miles east of Bristol, and to the south— He caught his breath. "Ashleigh" was printed in a square connected to Portsmouth. Unlike the other squares it had not been shaded in. His thoughts flashed back to the meeting in Falcon House—it seemed years ago now—when Ross and Jamie had been set upon in the street. He could almost hear Gordon Chandler asking why Glendenning had been sent down to Bosham and pointing out that the League already had seized nearby Larchwoods. And Tio Glendenning answering that Larchwoods was a small estate and if the League armed it with a view to attacking Portsmouth, they would need a larger base. Ashleigh would give them a "larger base"! Why in the devil had he been too dim-witted to foresee and guard against that menace?

He was stunned when the Squire bent forward and with a red crayon shaded in the Ashleigh box. There was great excitement. Questions rang out and were rendered incomprehensible as they overlapped in the outpouring of enthusiasm.

Smiling broadly, the Squire straightened and gestured for quiet. Bracksby was at the credenza, pouring wine. Topaz offered the first glass to the Squire, then served the others. Falcon was last, but his attempt at thanks was drowned by a roaring sneeze. Topaz fairly leapt back, and several annoyed glances came his way.

"My 'pologies," he mumbled.

"Of all the times to catch a cold," grumbled Opal.

The Squire said triumphantly, "Gentlemen— Let us drink to our final and most brilliant success!"

Falcon's toast was silent and very differently worded.

His voice eager, Bracksby asked, " 'Tis in our hands, then?"

"As good as."

"The devil it is!" thought Falcon grimly.

Opal, alias Hibbard Green, rumbled, "I cannot credit that he was so stupid as to agree to such madness. He must be desperate, indeed!"

"He will walk into our trap, I promise you," said the Squire.

"And—the others?" asked Topaz.

"Are en route. Like lambs to the slaughter."

Sapphire sounded unconvinced. "What about young Falcon?"

"With luck, the breed is off somewhere blowing his brains out, because he cut down that fool, Morris," said Green.

Falcon was seized by a scalding desire to cut down one toad named Hibbard, Lord Green. He was astonished when Topaz came up and slapped him on the back, saying admiringly, "Thanks to you, Ruby. Even if it did work in reverse."

"A most successful ploy," agreed the Squire, raising his glass. "I'll own I really didn't think 'twould work at all!"

Work in reverse? What the deuce were they talking about? Falcon managed a bow and said hoarsely, "The benefit of a devious mind."

"And a damned diabolical drug," said Green much amused. "Do not ever use any of the stuff in
my
glass, Ruby!"