deaf in one ear, blind in one eye, was missing his right hand, and limped on a twisted left leg. And still he was considered indestructible.
It had been decades since anybody had made any attempt on his life, or on the lives of his remaining children, as Edgar had imposed order on his house with a will of iron. His fifty-year climb to the top had been marked by one of the most bloodthirsty periods in the family's history, during which he had killed two of his brothers, and had been forced to do away with three of his own sons and one of his daughters in self-defence. The remaining two sons from his first marriage had been exiled for breaching the Rules of Ascension and had not been heard of since. He had decided that enough was enough, and had made it clear to the family that there would be harsh punishment for any further transgressions. They would all just have to wait for him to die of old age.
It seemed to Nate that the old man had been in a bad mood ever since. And the recent death of his favourite son would have done little to improve his temper.
'Shall I wait, sir?' the lad asked.
'What?' Nathaniel replied absent-mindedly.
They had reached his father's floor. The lift doors were standing open.
'Shall I wait here for you, sir?'
'No, thank you. I may be gone for some time.'
He stepped forward, turned, and made his way slowly down the gloomy corridor towards the door to his father's study, which faced him at the far end. He rarely came up to this floor. Much of it was off limits to everyone but Edgar and his small cadre of slaves. It was always dimly lit, and the decor was… unsettling. The walls were lined with dark oil paintings of ominous biblical scenes, particularly those of the Old Testament. The design of the carpets and the wallpaper suggested sharp edges and raw flesh. Wildenstern Hall was riddled with hidden rooms and secret passageways, and Nate suspected that this floor had more than most. When they were younger, Nate and Roberto would talk in hushed tones about how they sometimes thought they heard a ghostly wailing from the vast attic above their father's quarters. Nate shuddered at the memory of those sounds.
The door opened as he drew near to it, and a large man in an expensive but tasteless suit, carrying a bowler hat, emerged from the room. His chest and shoulders bulged under the well-cut jacket. His dark, oiled hair was slicked back from his broad face and a neatly trimmed moustache perched on his top Hp. The expression in his eyes was more akin to that a reptile than a human.
'Master Nathaniel,' he smiled, showing a mouth interspersed with gold teeth. 'A pleasure, as always!'
'Mr Slattery' Nate nodded to the man and went to walk past.
The man didn't move out of his way.
'Looks like you've moved up a rung, Master Nate. You'll do well out of this, I expect, eh?'
Nate glared at him. Slattery worked for his father. He was a bailiff, but Nate knew there were other kinds of work he carried out – more secretive work. There was a hardness and a cruelty to the man that unnerved him.
'You're in my way' he muttered through gritted teeth.
'So I am, so I am. Sorry about that.' Slattery stepped to one side. 'Just wanted to pay my respects to your father. He was as sound as a bell, your brother was. A fine fella, and no mistake. He'll be sorely missed.'
Slattery was a Dubliner who'd spent time in Liverpool, and it had given him a strange mix of accents.
Nate nodded again and brushed past him. The bailiff was making his way down the corridor when he stopped and looked back.
'So I reckon you'll be off in his place, eh, Master Nathaniel? You'll remember old Slattery when it's you that's makin' the decisions, eh?'
The nerve of him, the conniving crawler. Nate ground his teeth. Marcus wasn't even in his grave, and the man was already trying to curry favour with the new bosses. Slattery stood at the door to the elevator, looking expectantly at him.
'I doubt I'll be making any decisions that concern you,' Nate snapped at him. 'And I think you'll find the
Slattery's expression froze, and Nate was struck with the certainty that he would be regretting that remark before too long. He put it to the back of his mind. There was enough to be worrying about. Knocking on his father's door, he steeled himself for what was to come.
'Enter!' a voice barked.
And he did.
There was a giant, dark-brown bull mastiff lying just inside the door, and Nate stepped over it gingerly. Two more of the dogs, one tan-coloured, the other black, lay before his father's desk. The room was huge, with a vaulted ceiling supported by carved oak beams. The walls were lined with bookshelves, hunting trophies and paintings, and above the fireplace, a display of arcane weapons from all over the world.
In the corners of the room behind the Patriarch stood two elegant black men – taken as young children from a Maasai tribe in Kenya – each nearly seven feet tall and dressed in the uniform of a footman. Trained from childhood to serve and protect their master, they would wait silent and unnoticed until he beckoned them.
His father's desk was nearly ten feet wide, and made of solid teak. Behind it, dressed in a burgundy waistcoat over a white shirt, a cigar clamped between his teeth, sat the Patriarch. Ensconced in a tall teak and leather chair, his large head hunched over an obese body, Edgar Wildenstern resembled some kind of albino razorback boar, but for the eyes – one startlingly blue, one milky white – that fixed Nathaniel in their gaze. All he was missing, Nate thought, was the tusks. Whiskers swept down his cheeks and joined his sideburns to frame his pale, scarred, wrinkled face in thick grey bristles.
'Father.' He bowed his head.
'Hello, boy,' Edgar uttered in a bass rumble. 'Did you enjoy your time in Africa with Mr Herne?'
'Yes, thank you, sir,' Nate replied after a moment's hesitation. 'Mr Herne sends his compliments.'
'Of course he does,' Edgar grunted. 'I pay for his gallivanting, after all.'
Nate was going to reply that Herne had made the family a great deal of money with his 'gallivanting', but he stayed silent.
'You disrespected the family by running off after you finished your schooling, to satisfy your ill-conceived notions of adventure,' his father continued. 'But I suppose a certain amount of disrespect must be expected and tolerated in one's youth. You, my boy, have well and truly used up your quota.'
Nate's eyes fell on the crab-like claw that took the place of Edgar's right hand. It had been torn from some engimal, and he could open and close it at will, through small movements of his wrist and elbow. Its tips clicked together when he was agitated. Nate had just heard the first click.
'You will take Marcus's place at the head of the company. There is much you have to learn about international commerce and the sooner you start the better. Once you have acquainted yourself with the fundamentals of our business, you will go to America, and when you are deemed to be ready, you will take control of our interests there. You leave in two months.'
Nate's heart sank. He had known this was coming.
'But Roberto is the Heir now-'
'Roberto is a buffoon!' Edgar snapped.
Nate ground his teeth at hearing his brother insulted in this way, but he knew better than to argue with his father. Berto had fallen out of favour long ago; with his kind-hearted, affable nature, he lacked the ruthless qualities valued in a male of the Wildenstern line. Berto hated Edgar, and while Nate had finally rebelled by fleeing the family home, Berto had always sought out more subtle ways of defying their father's will.
But now he was the Heir, and Nate had no wish to usurp his position. Particularly as it was a position he didn't want.
'Roberto will run the estates here,' Edgar told him. 'And I fear even that will stretch his abilities.'
'I have taken a place at Trinity College, sir,' Nathaniel began. 'Engimal Studies, under Professor-'
'There will be no more talk of engimals, safaris, zoology or any of that confounded nonsense in this house,' his father cut in with a growl. 'You will study commerce, economics, law – an education that will prepare you for your future: overseeing the business of this family in the United States.'
'I don't-'
'You will go to America – to Washington and New York – and you will assume your brother's responsibilities. This family's fortune is dependent on the firm control of our dealings with those Yankee dolts, and that is now
