something. He turned back to a small pile of old furniture. With a flap-sided table over his shoulder, he walked firmly towards the doorway. The watcher would probably know the tenement residents, but it was unlikely that a tradesman delivering goods would be challenged.
At the entrance he mimed to a woman that he was a mute, jabbing upwards. She let him in and he stumped up the dark stairs, leaving the table at the top landing. Then, heart racing, he knocked at the door.
Fulton's muffled voice demanded who it was. Renzi mumbled a few words until an exasperated Fulton flung the door open. 'Mr.— Mr. Smith! What in hell's name—'
Renzi pushed his way past, ducking out of sight of the windows. 'Forgive the intrusion, Mr. Fulton, but my business with you is pressing and cannot stand on ceremony.'
'What business? And how in the devil's name do you know where I live?'
'Sir, I know you to be an inventor and genius of the first rank who will surely find a place in history. I am also aware that you're frustrated in your desire to see your creations born, to have them become a tangible reality.'
A long table at the end of the room was overflowing with drawings and other papers. Renzi thought he could detect the form of an undersea craft.
'Not only that, but you are being denied the fruits of your labours—even the means to sustain existence while you bring these wonders into the world. Mr. Fulton, I'm here to—'
'By God, you're English and you've come to put in your oar with me and Emperor Bonaparte!' he gasped in astonishment. 'The barefaced hide of you, sir!'
A knot formed in Renzi's stomach: if he revealed his true identity he might court betrayal to the watcher outside, but if he denied it, he would have no standing by which to negotiate.
'It's true, isn't it? How can you know of my affairs,' Fulton snapped, 'unless you've agents in the Ministry of Marine?' His eyes narrowed.
'Sir, if your heart is set on this, you must see that your present arrangement will not be the one that achieves it. Napoleon's France will never agree to putting a military master-stroke in the power of a Yankee businessman, no matter what the terms. You should see this, sir!'
Time was slipping away: at any moment the watcher might realise that the deliveryman had not emerged and become suspicious. And if he had made an error concerning Fulton's true situation he was done for.
'Well, Mr. Smith, or whatever your name is, I can tell you now, you're plain damn wrong in your reckoning. There's nothing stands between me and my arrangement save a little matter concerning the crew of the submersibles.'
'The crew?' Renzi said, mystified.
'If it's the barbaric custom these days to treat fire-ship crews as pirates and incendiaries, I want the French to stand surety that the enemy won't hang 'em—and take reprisals on their prisoners if they do.'
'Sir, I'd hazard they've been hanging fire over this for . . . a long time,' Renzi said quietly. For the canny French it would be an ideal sticking point to drag matters out. It was looking more and more certain that they were letting economic hardship do their work for them in forcing Fulton to hand over the plans and come to a different agreement.
'They'll get to it,' Fulton said uncomfortably.
'Perhaps,' said Renzi, seeing his chance. 'But in the meantime it would grieve me to see a mind as worthy as yours brought to such a needy pass.' He fumbled beneath his waistcoat and found his money-belt. 'Here—twenty English guineas.' He placed them on the table. Fulton made no move to stop him. 'They're yours, sir, with my best wishes. There's no need to account for them—no one has seen me give them to you, have they?'
They were part of a sum he had signed for in far-away Walmer Castle and he would have to explain later but for now . . .
Fulton gave him a look of indignation. 'If you're thinking I'd sell out for English gold . . .'
But Renzi had seen the gleam in his eye—the money meant decent meals, wine, a respite from creditors . . . independence. At the very least Renzi had bought his silence. The danger of betrayal had receded. 'Sir, I would not think to imply such a thing. Do take it as your due.'
Fulton picked up the coins and slipped them into his pocket. 'Accepted with my thanks—but I see myself under no obligation whatsoever.'
'Quite. I cannot help but observe that it's not without its merit to consider some kind of business relationship with Britain as will see your projects properly completed. I'm sure—'
'Are you an English agent?' Fulton asked.
Renzi caught his breath. 'I'm authorised to offer you a contract with His Majesty's government for the full realisation of your works in a sum to be determined, and all possible assistance from the naval authorities under your direction.'
This was breathtaking gall. Renzi knew very well he had no such authority—in light of Fulton's commercial inclinations he had made it up on the spot.
'So it seems you
'Democratic? Republican? A singular position, may I say, for one who will now be seen as supporting the world ambitions of an emperor, no less, whose own views on—'
'Leave Mr. Bonaparte out of this!'
'I cannot see how that is possible,' Renzi said smoothly. 'So long as you confine your labours to the cause of this French emperor the world must draw its own conclusions.'
Fulton's face reddened. He started to say something but thought better of it.
