each other. A stream of sunlight lay across Linch's chest. 'Go on, ' he said as he ate, the plate in his lap. 'You were sayin'?'
'Uh... yes. I was saying... I have reason to believe you may have defiled Violet Adams in a way other than physical.'
'What other way is there?'
'Mental defilement, ' Matthew answered. Linch stopped chewing. Only for a space of perhaps two heartbeats, however. Then Linch was eating once more, staring at the pattern of sunlight on the floorboards between them.
Matthew's sword was aimed. It was time to strike for the heart, and see what color blood spurted out. 'I believe you created a fiction in the child's mind that she had an audience with Satan in the Hamilton house. I believe you've had a hand in creating such a fiction in many people hereabouts, including Jeremiah Buckner and Elias Garrick. And that you planted the poppets under Rachel Howarth's floor and caused Cara Grunewald to have a 'vision' that led to their discovery.'
Linch continued to eat his breakfast without haste, as if these damning words had never been uttered. When he spoke, however, his voice was... somehow changed, though Matthew couldn't quite explain its difference other than a subtle shift to a lower pitch.
'And just how am I supposed to have done such a thing?'
'I have no idea, ' Matthew said. 'Unless you're a warlock, and you've learned sorcery at the Devil's knee.'
Linch laughed heartily and put his plate aside. 'Oh, that's rich indeed! Me a warlock! Oh, yes! Shall I shoot a fireball up your arse for you?'
'That's not necessary. If you wish to begin refuting my theory by explaining your masquerade, you may proceed.'
Linch's smile faded. 'And if I don't, you'll have me burnin' at the stake in place of your wench? Listen to me, boy: when you go see Dr. Shields, ask for a whole keg of opium.'
'I'm sure Mr. Bidwell's curiosity about you will be fired just as mine was, ' Matthew said calmly. 'Particularly after I tell him about the book and the brooch.'
'You mean you haven't already?' Linch gave a faint, sinister smile.
'No. Mind you, the maskers saw me pass their camp.'
'The maskers!' Linch laughed again. 'Maskers have less sense than rats, boy! They pay attention to no details but lookin' at their own damned faces in mirrors!'
This had been said with contemptuous ferocity... and suddenly Matthew knew.
'Ahhhhh, ' he said. 'Of course. You are a professional actor, aren't you?'
'I've already told you I spent some time with a circus, ' Linch said smoothly. 'My act with trained rats. I had some dealin's with actors, much to my sorrow. I say to Hell with the whole lyin', stealin' breed. But look here.' He opened the drawer and brought out the Egyptian tome and the wallet that hid the sapphire brooch. Linch placed both objects on the desktop, then removed the twine-tied brown cotton cloth from the wallet and began to untie it with nimble fingers. 'I expect I should give you some kind of explanation, such as it is.'
'It would be much appreciated.' And very intriguing to see what Linch came up with, Matthew thought.
'The truth is... that I am more learned than I let on. But I ain't shammin' the accent. I was born on the breast of the Thames, and I'm proud of it.' Linch had undone the twine, and now he opened the cloth and picked up the sapphire brooch between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He held it in the stream of sunlight, inspecting it with his pale, intense eyes. 'This belonged to my mother, God rest her lovin' soul. Yes, it's worth a good piece of coin but I'd never part with it. Never. It's the only thing I've got to remember her by.' He turned the brooch slightly, and light glinted from its golden edge into Matthew's face. 'It's a thing of beauty, ain't it? So beautiful. Like she was. So, so beautiful.' Again, the brooch was turned and again a glint of light struck Matthew's eyes.
Linch's voice had almost imperceptibly softened. 'I'd never part with it. Not for any amount of money. So beautiful. So very, very beautiful.'
The brooch turned... the light glinted...
'Never. For any amount of money. You see how it shines? So, so beautiful. Like she was. So, so beautiful.'
The brooch... the light... the brooch... the light...
Matthew stared at the golden glint. Linch had begun to angle the brooch slowly in and out of the sun's stream, in a regular—and transfixing—pattern.
'Yes, ' Matthew said. 'Beautiful.' With a surprising amount of difficulty, he pulled his gaze away from the brooch. 'I want to know about the book.'
'Ahhhh, the book!' Linch slowly raised the index finger of his left hand, which again secured Matthew's attention. Linch made a small circle in the air with that finger, then slid it down to the brooch. Matthew's eyes followed its smooth descent, and suddenly he was staring once more at the light... the brooch... the light... the brooch...
'The book, ' Linch repeated softly. 'The book, the book, the book.'
'Yes, the book, ' Matthew said, and just as he attempted to pull his gaze again from the brooch Linch held it motionless in the light for perhaps three seconds. The lack of movement now seemed as strangely compelling as the motion. Linch then began to move the brooch in and out of the light in a slow clockwise direction.
'The book.' This was peculiar, Matthew thought. His voice sounded hollow, as if he were hearing himself speak from the distance of another room. 'Why...' The brooch... the light... the brooch... the light. 'Why Egyptian culture?'
'Fascinating, ' Linch said. 'I find the Egyptian culture fascinating.'
The brooch... the light...
'Fascinating, ' Linch said again, and now he too seemed to be speaking from a distance. 'How they... forged an empire... from shifting sand. Shifting sand... all about... shifting sand... flowing... softly, softly...'
'What?' Matthew whispered. The brooch... the light... the brooch...
'Shifting... shifting sand, ' Linch said.
... the light...
'Listen, Matthew. Listen.'
Matthew was listening. It seemed to him that the room around him had become darkened, and the only glint of illumination came from that brooch in Linch's hand. He could hear no sound but Linch's low, sonorous voice, and he found himself waiting for the next word to be spoken.
'Listen... Matthew... the shifting sand... shifting... so so beautiful...'
The voice seemed to be whispering right in his ear. No, no: Linch was closer than that. Closer...
... the brooch... the light... the brooch... Closer.
'Listen, ' came the hushed command, in a voice that Matthew now hardly recognized. 'Listen... to the silence.'
... the light... the shifting shifting sand... the brooch... the so so beautiful light...
'Listen, Matthew. To the silence. Every. Thing. Silent. Every. Thing. So so beautiful. The shifting shifting sand. Silent, silent. The town... silent. As if... the whole world... holds its breath...'
'Uh!' Matthew said; it was the panicked sound of a drowning swimmer, searching for air. His mouth opened wider... he heard himself gasp... a terrible noise...
'Silent, silent, ' Linch was saying, in a hushed, slow singsong voice. 'Every. Thing. Silent. Every. Till—'
'No!' Matthew took a backward step and collided with the doorframe. He jerked his eyes away from the glinting brooch, though Linch continued to turn it in and out of the sunlight. 'No! You're not... going to...'
'What, Matthew?' Linch smiled, his eyes piercing through Matthew's skull to his very mind. 'Not going to what?' He stood up from his chair... slowly... smoothly... like shifting shifting sand...
Matthew felt terror bloom within him unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His legs seemed weighted in iron boots. Linch was coming toward him, reaching out to grasp his arm in what seemed a strange slow-motion travesty of time. Matthew could not look away from Linch's eyes; they were the center of the whole world, and everything else was silent... silent...
He was aware that Linch's fingers were about to take hold of his sleeve.
