loathing beneath.
'You left a chess game unfinished,' said the newcomer. 'That's not like you, Merdenne.'
Pale also was the flesh of the other figure sitting at the table, but unhealthily so, like the belly of a rotting fish, damp and repellent to the imagined touch. A pair of blue glass lenses beneath the skull's fringe of fine white hair completed the face that followed the words of the two identical men.
'I have larger amusements to pursue,' said Merdenne levelly. 'In fact, you have come upon me in the midst of discussing a point of strategy with my associate here.' The sick-looking face with the blue glasses nodded in hollow politeness. 'I fear I have no time for that smaller game.'
'No time?' Ambrose smiled. 'I think otherwise.' His hand darted forward and locked about the wrist of his double. The candles flicked out and the room was plunged into darkness. When the candle was lit again, the eyes be hind the blue glasses saw a turned-over chair beside himself, and nothing else.
Ambrose painfully raised himself from the rubble strewn ground. He touched his hand to the side of his face, looked and saw blood bright against his fingers. A ringing noise filled his ears.
A few yards away, Merdenne staggered to his feet. He shook his head, then gazed about him at the vista of ruined masonry, the crumbling fragments of a once great city. His eyes shifted focus for a few seconds, as if looking beyond the scene's material aspect.
'You fool!' He spun about on his heel and glared in fury at Ambrose. 'You've trapped us here!'
Wearily, Ambrose sat upon the base of a shattered mar ble column. 'We're not trapped,' he said, gazing at grey clouds moving across a grey sky. 'Just removed from the game for a little while. Let our pawns play out the moves we've arranged for them.' He gestured at the scene around them. 'This will pass, one way or another, when the strug gle is decided.' With a sharp-pointed stone he began to scratch at the dirt in front of his boots.
'What are you doing?' snapped Merdenne.
A cross-hatch of sixty-four squares showed in the dust. Ambrose began picking through the small stones around him, sorting out the darkest and the lightest and arranging them on the squares. 'This will do for a rook,' he said. 'And here's your king… I believe you had just castled when we left off, though I'll let you take that move back, if you wish.' He glanced up at Merdenne's scowling face. 'Come, come.' he chided. 'We have a little time here. Can you think of a better way to pass it?'
Merdenne glared at him for a few more seconds, then without speaking sat down on the other side of the board inscribed in the dust.
I drew the envelope from my pocket and once more read Ambrose's message – Tom Clagger can be trusted – followed by a house number in Rosemary Lane. As the three of us – Arthur, Tafe and myself – had set out from Ambrose's lodgings just as dusk was setting upon the city and had spent some time searching fruitlessly for the mysterious Mr. Clagger's residence, it had now gotten quite dark. The mazy streets and alleys of this poor section of London, packed tight with the most wretched of the urban refuse, seemed even denser and less penetrable at night. I pocketed the envelope again and turned to my companions.
'I fear we have lost our way,' said I. This, though we were not out of sight of some of the city's tallest landmarks! Such is the intricacy of these lesser explored urban parts. 'Stay here and I shall seek directions.' I crossed the narrow street and headed for a group of roughly clad men standing about the open door of an ale shop.
My undertaking was accompanied by a little trepidation, for in an area such as this the possibility of violence for the sake of robbery or even mere amusement is always something to be reckoned with. Our little expeditionary party had tried to dress as plainly as possible, but our great-cloaks simply by their cleanliness attracted the sinister attention of the loiterers on the street. But the urgency of our mission propelled me on toward the men who were even now scowling at my approach.
'Gentlemen,' I said brazenly. 'I'm looking for a Mr. Thomas Clagger. The price of a drink all around if you can direct me to him.'
'Clagger? Clagger?' muttered one of the rag-tag band. 'Don't know of no damn Clagger.' His blacknailed hand strayed toward his pocket.
The others whispered among themselves until suddenly the face of one brightened. 'Oh, you mean Rich Tom!' he called out. 'Whyn't you say so?' His companions' faces took on less menacing expressions, as they now regarded me with some measure of respect. Clearly the name Clagger was one that carried a little weight in this district.
'Yes, that's the one,' I said, hoping it really was. 'Do you know him?'
' Everyone knows old Rich Tom. Why, he loaned me a crown when me wife was last confined and the nurses wouldn't give us the baby 'til we had paid a bit on the bill. Of course I know Rich Tom.'
I signalled for Tafe and Arthur to come across the street and join me. 'Can you take us to him?' I said, turning back to my newfound informant.
'I should think so,' said he. 'You're nowt but a few paces from his door where you're standing.'
'Splendid.' I distributed coins to the other men, who touched their caps and mumbled thanks, then stepped into the ale shop to test their value. 'Can we hurry along? We've got some important business with Mr. Clagger.'
'I'm on to you. Lord, I had no idea old Tom had such spiffy friends, but it makes as much sense as him having pots of money in the first place.'
He escorted us to the opening of a courtyard that we had passed by several times earlier. 'You probably missed it,' said our guide, 'cause the lane takes a little jog in right here. See? There's 'nother building around the corner.' We followed him under the low arch. 'That's his door right there.'
In truth, we would have never found the well-hidden lodgings without the man's aid. I bestowed a coin of gratitude upon him and received a cheerful thanks.
Arthur looked about the cramped, crumbling courtyard with distaste as I rapped upon the door. The old king was most likely filled with bitter reflections about the degradation of his land. On the other side of the door I could hear shuffling footsteps. 'Coming!' cried a man's voice from inside.
The door opened and a man's face peered out. He was not quite so old as Arthur, but well up in years, with a fringe of grey hair around the shining pink dome of his head. 'Yes?' he inquired politely. 'What is it?'
'Mr. Clagger?' I asked. 'Tom Clagger?'
'That's right.' He nodded happily, apparently quite pleased with being recognised.
'We're friends of Dr. Ambrose-'
'Ambrose!' he cried. 'Well then, come in. Don't stand out there in that mucky courtyard.' He ushered us into a small, well-lit parlour. The room was surprisingly clean and tidy in a fussy bachelor's manner, in contrast to the decaying neighbourhood surrounding it. It was comfortably, if not expensively furnished, with a few framed sporting prints on the walls above the time-worn chairs. An astonishing number of books lay about on the tables and tops of cupboards, and arranged in rows upon several sets of bookshelves. Most of them showed the marks of having been acquired at bargain pricescracked or mismatched bindings, water stains and the like. There were no cheap novels among them, but were all an impressively weighty collection of philosophy, history and similar topics. One that lay open on the arm of a chair bore in the margins the pencil marks of studious perusal.
'And how is Dr. Ambrose?' said our host, gesturing for us to seat ourselves. His voice bore just a trace of the uncultured accent of the people in the nearby streets.
'I'm afraid he may be in some danger.' I sat down and studied the old man's expression. 'There is, unfortunately, nothing we can do to aid him at this time.'
Clagger nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes, I imagine such could very well be the case. Dr. Ambrose is a man of powerful great learning, but- something more than that, too, as you might well know.' His bright eyes peered sharply at me. 'Mister… ahh…'
'Hocker,' said I. 'Edwin Hocker. And this is, ah, Mr. Tafe, and Brigadier-General Morsmere.'
'Tut, tut,' said Clagger reprovingly. 'I'm at least a little ways into Ambrose's confidences. I'm honoured to have you in my home, my lord Arthur.' He gravely inclined his head toward the king.
Arthur lifted his hand. 'Please. No formalities. I hold a man of learning such as you as my equal'
'Yes, well, I'm not exactly what you'd call schooled, but as you can see I read a fair bit.' Clagger waved a hand at his scattered library. 'Quite famous for it in these parts, you know. Mr. Mayhew was the one who put me on to it.'
'Mayhew?' said I. 'Not Henry Mayhew, I take it?'
