the very tops of the longer walls. Motes of dust floated in the shafts of late afternoon light that painted oblongs across the floor. Around the edges of the room was a wide range of training equipment for gymnastics, as well as for fencing and other fighting arts. A large selection of weapons lined the wall at one end.
'I'll have you winded before long,' Nate retorted.
'Not much good if you keep ending up on the floor, Master Nathaniel.'
Nate had sparred with Clancy since he was a boy, and he relaxed the master-servant formalities while they were fighting. It was no fun having an opponent who did whatever he was told. They had both outgrown their various instructors and Clancy had proved himself useful as an all-round coach. Indentured into the service of the Wildensterns as a child, the footman had been training in these skills for most of his life.
'I'm out of practice,' Nate breathed as he got to his feet. 'Didn't get much while I was away. One more round?'
'I am at your disposal, sir.' Clancy took up a defensive stance.
They were about to go at it again when Silas walked through the door. With his thin frame, his mop of dark hair and his pale skin, he was an older, less flamboyant version of his brother Gerald. Silas shared much of his little brother's intellect, but none of his imagination. It made him the perfect choice for the position of Edgar's private secretary and one of the family's chief accountants.
'Nate, you were supposed to be up in my office half an hour ago,' he said stiffly. 'Your father told me to run over the books with you.'
'I don't want to run over the bloody books,' Nathaniel answered back, relaxing his stance for a minute. 'The books can take a flying bloody leap for all I care.'
'And what should I tell the Duke?' Silas regarded him with an expectant expression. 'He'll doubtless want to know why the accounts are taking a flying leap. You know how he pays attention to these things.'
Nathaniel swore under his breath. He glanced at his manservant.
'What?' he snapped. 'I know you were going to say something.'
'I wouldn't presume to comment on your affairs, sir,' Clancy said.
Nate made to turn away, but the footman continued:
'After all, this is
There was a barely perceptible raise of his eyebrow. Nate stared back at him, grinding his teeth. There were times when he could swear his manservant was attempting some kind of hypnosis with these coded messages of his. Sometimes it wasn't clear who was really in charge.
'Tomorrow,' he said, turning to Silas at last. 'I'll take a look at the books tomorrow… after breakfast. How's that?'
'Splendid,' Silas replied. 'I'll have them waiting.'
He strode back out, closing the door behind him. Nate sighed, picturing the pile of leather-bound ledgers with their columns upon columns of figures. If there was a hell on Earth, he was sure that accountancy was involved somehow. Bouncing on his toes, he raised his guard and nodded to Clancy.
'Right, now I'm really going to trounce you.'
Neither had time to land a blow before Gerald burst through the door, sweating and dishevelled.
'They-!' he gasped, then ran out of breath and started coughing, holding up his hand for them to wait for him to finish.
Nate and his footman stood there as Gerald got over his coughing fit and tried to catch his breath.
'Couldn't wait… for the… elevator,' he explained in panting breaths. 'Ran down… the stairs.'
Nate worked it out. His cousin had obviously run full-tilt down fourteen flights of stairs and crossed from the other side of the huge building. No wonder he was out of breath.
'They're awake!' Gerald managed at last. 'They're talking!'
He didn't need to say who.
'Well, then,' Nate replied, picking up his shirt. 'Let's go meet the ancestors.'
He charged out of the door, dragging Gerald with him, and together they ran back up to the laboratory.
By the time they reached it, Gerald was staggering forward on rubbery legs, wheezing like an old woman. Nate didn't care what the doctors claimed, there was no way smoking could be good for the heart or lungs. They pushed through the door to find the room shrouded in a gloomy light, the sun having passed to the far side of the building. The lamps had yet to be lit. Sitting on a bed in the corner was a hunched figure, being supported by an uneasy-looking young footman. The figure looked frail and cold; shivering despite the blankets wrapped round his shoulders. With an achingly stiff movement, the man turned his head to look at them.
Nathaniel found himself staring into the grey, filmy eyes of a man who had once been a corpse.
'My God!' he whispered.
Gerald pushed him forward and together they approached the huddled old man. Despite his frail state, he looked extraordinarily well. His skin was dry and creased with wrinkles, but it was no longer the colour of the peat bog; blue veins were visible beneath, and bone and muscle had redeveloped to the point where he could move by himself to a small degree. His eyes were clearly working – they moved about, trying to focus on the faces around him; however, Nate doubted that the old man could see very well. It was a noble-looking face; long, with high cheekbones and a prominent brow over a narrow, hooked nose. His hair was a bleached brown, but there was an inch of black at the roots. His original hair colour was growing back.
'He said his name is Hugo,' Gerald said in a low voice. 'I haven't been able to get much sense out of him though. He's very confused – as you'd expect from someone who's been dead for centuries. The two women are awake too, but they've just been lying there babbling so far.'
Nate looked over at them, lying in their beds. He could see that their eyes were open and their lips were moving, their heads rolling weakly from side to side. The second man still lay unconscious, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he too was alive.
'Elizabeth,' the old man said abruptly in a feeble rasping voice, reaching out for the black-haired woman in the bed next to his. 'Oh, what have they done to thee? What have the beasts done?'
Nate caught him before he fell forward and gently pushed him upright. The woman turned her head and looked in the direction of the voice, mumbling incoherently.
'Do you know who this is?' Nate asked him.
'It is Elizabeth, my sister.' Hugo gestured to her with his hand. 'Is she dying?'
'Quite the opposite, in fact,' Gerald told him. 'She is…You are
Hugo looked round at the other beds, his underdeveloped eyes squinting at the shapes.
'There is a red-haired woman and another man… a huge man,' Nate prompted him.
'Brunhilde… my younger sister,' Hugo gasped. 'And Brutus, my brother. Ahhh, Brutus… they hated him most of all. What a warrior he was! He fought like a lion before he was overcome! He must have cut down a dozen of the vermin – no… more. He was like a mighty lion.'
It was the longest speech he had uttered so far and it seemed to leave him exhausted. Gerald and Nathaniel looked at each other.
'Can you remember who attacked you?' Nate pressed the ancient man. 'You were found with gold stuffed down your throat. Can you tell us what happened?'
'Peasants,' Hugo spat, his face screwing up with hatred. 'Heretic peasants led by a mad monk. We were betrayed by our guards and by our servants. They came in the night like rats and took us in our beds.'
'Some things never change,' Gerald quipped, taking out his cigarette case.
Hugo's hand went to his throat as he struggled to remember. 'I… I fought, but the cowards had taken my sword. I was held down… Some of them wanted to burn us. Then the monk…' His voice drifted off. 'The monk said we should go into the ground. But not before they had made us suffer.'
He went quiet for a moment, tired and out of breath. His head hung as if his mind was lost in the moment of his death, centuries ago.
'We all cursed them; we showed no fear of the vermin,' he continued in his weak rasp. 'Brunhilde bit the nose off one of them, and we laughed at them then! But they hurt us… for days they put us through pain.' He paused, lifting his head. 'And then they threw us into deep holes and tossed soil on our faces.' He went silent again. 'And
