There were three men in the large, chilly room apart from McHugh. Slattery was on the far side, leaning over a table wearing only an apron over his bare upper torso, and washing his hands in a wooden basin. Its water was red with blood. The second man was obviously another of Slattery's thugs, a giant of a fellow with matted hair on his bare forearms and tufts of it sticking up from under his collar. He too wore an apron.
But it was the flabby, middle-aged man in the chair who seized Nate's attention. His wrists and ankles were shackled to the sturdy chair. He was naked to the waist and blood was spattered all over his chest, most of it seeming to come from his nose and mouth. His head hung limply forwards, but Nate could still see that his face had been badly beaten and some of his teeth were broken or missing.
There was a bottle of whiskey on the table and Slattery poured a little onto his hands, rubbing them together before rinsing them in the basin.
'Good afternoon, Mr Wildenstern, sir.' He nodded. 'Be with you in a moment.' Seeing Nathaniel look at the whiskey bottle, he smiled. 'It's good for cleaning a person's smell from your hands, sir In this line of work I find myself continually covered with the stench of others. And though I like the smell of whiskey, I never let a drop pass my lips – or those of my men when they're in my company. I believe that alcohol is the root of all sin and will be the ruin of this nation. It makes us lose control… and that is a terrible thing.'
He finished washing his hands and, picking up the basin with one hand, came over to his battered victim. He threw the bloody water into the man's face. There was no reaction. Grabbing him by his greying hair, Slattery lifted the limp head and stared into the unresponsive face.
'We are despised, my lads and I,' the bailiff declared softly, letting the man's head drop back onto his chest. 'It's not how we would like things – we're not
'Information, Mr Wildenstern, is the key to control,' he continued. 'Your father – if you don't mind me sayin' so – is a great believer in it. Know what's going on, know who's doing what and, above all, know who knows what you don't.' He indicated his senseless prisoner. 'This man's name is Eoin Duffy. He's a moneylender and a trader in stolen goods. A few days ago we received a tip-off that an engimal – one of those known as 'bright-eyes' – that belonged to the company building the railway tunnel for the Wildensterns had been bought by a local collector. We retrieved the engimal from the collector and persuaded him to tell us where he had bought the creature. He gave us Mr Duffy's name.'
McHugh tossed Slattery a rag and he dried his hands. Nathaniel was torn between being riveted and repulsed by the sight of the tortured man.
'Mr Duffy here has been very helpful,' Slattery went on, taking down his shirt from a coathanger that hung from a hook on the stone wall. 'He gave us a name: Seamus Noonan. Noonan is a known associate of the late James McCord, the former owner of the deafened horse. Again, he's not known to be a rebel sympathizer, but Duffy here is, aren't you, Mr Duffy?' The unconscious man did not reply. Slattery grinned. 'Noonan gave him the engimal to pay off the money he owed Duffy and make a little more on top – they're worth a lot of ochre, these things.'
Pulling on his shirt, he did up his tie and donned his waistcoat and jacket.
'So we can put McCord and Noonan at the site of the explosion and connect them to the Fenians through our friend here. Duffy says their relationship was just business, but we're not swallowin' that. We still don't know who the spy in the house is, or who's runnin' the show. Chances are, he doesn't know; it would make sense for the boss to keep his lackeys in the dark. Duffy's not a strong man and he's probably told us all he can. We'll give him some time to pull himself together and then we'll work on him some more – just to see what else he can give us.'
Nate gulped down a lump in his throat. He had grown up in an environment that had prepared him for violence. And this was not the first time he had witnessed grievous injuries; he had even seen men killed on the hunts in Africa. But what he saw here turned his stomach.
'That's enough,' he said hoarsely. 'I want you to clean this man up, treat his injuries and take him down to the police office. This is a matter for the magistrate now'
Slattery's expression went flat for a moment and Nate felt a chill go down his spine.
'People of… tender years, like yourself, sir, are often disturbed by these harsh realities, sir,' Slattery began. 'But your father-'
'My father put me in charge of this matter,' Nate interrupted him, 'despite my 'tender years' – and you will do as I bloody tell you! Take this man to the magistrate! He will be tried properly and given the sentence he deserves. Do you understand me?'
Slattery gazed at him with dead eyes. His two henchmen were on either side of Nathaniel and he felt his skin crawl as they looked to their boss for his reaction. The moment seemed to last an age. Then Slattery smiled and held his hands up in a friendly gesture.
'As you like, Mr Wildenstern, sir,' he said at last. 'After all, we should have involved the police in our investigation from the start. I suppose my enthusiasm for being an amateur sleuth got the better of me. My apologies, sir. Mr Duffy will be delivered to the magistrate as you've instructed. If you don't mind, we'll follow up on the information we've received thus far and keep you – and the police, of course – informed of developments. Thank you, sir.'
And then Slattery said no more. The three men stood staring at Nate, none of them moving. He looked from one to the next and eventually just nodded and walked out of the room. Stumbling along the dark corridor, he had reached the door before he realized he didn't have the key. With a start, he turned to find McHugh standing behind him, without his candle. The man hadn't made a sound. Reaching past Nathaniel, he unlocked the door.
'Yeh'll be wantin' to get out, I expect, sir,' McHugh said to him, and then added in a softer voice, 'Not to worry. This is a messy business and not to everyone's taste – least of all a gentleman like y'self. But these toerags'll get their comeuppance, you can count on that. They'll regret the day they crossed the Wildensterns.'
Nate nodded to him and stepped through the door. It was a bright day outside and he was taken aback by the sunshine. For some reason he had been expecting it to be late evening.
'Take care, sir,' McHugh muttered, and then closed the door.
Nathaniel climbed the steps and hurried away, trembling.
Hugo and his sisters continued their recovery. It took little more than a day before they were able to eat solid food, which they put away with appetites that Gerald said must surely defy the laws of physics. They became insatiable, eating until they were fit to burst and then stopping only long enough to sleep for an hour or two and let their meals settle. When they finally started using the toilet – needing help at first, but soon walking down the corridor on their own – there was little about them that resembled the bodies that had been blown from the ground not so long ago. The women were talking now too, but only to their brother.
Hugo had the appearance of a man in his fifties; he was still weak and sickly, but growing steadily stronger. His hair was black at the roots and he was cultivating a moustache and triangular goatee. The two women looked even younger, but in different ways. Brunhilde was a nervous, twitching mass of energy; her shrewish face constantly twisted into various aggressive expressions. She often appeared confused or suspicious of those around her. Elizabeth was more placid and far easier on the eye. She moved around with demure grace, seeming to find so many things that interested and amused her. Unlike her defensive sister, her fragility gave her the appearance of a delicate flower. But there was an air of calculation about her too, and as with Hugo, there was a keen intelligence evident behind those eyes.
Their skin had stretched and become smooth, marred only by the pattern of wrinkles that were all that remained of their leather-like appearance, like a sheet of paper that had been crumpled and ironed out again. Proper clothes had been found for them, and books for them to read – they took a particular interest in history books and spent much time reading the King James Bible. But still, the sisters would speak to no one but Hugo, and Gerald became convinced that one of the reasons they were so shy was that none of them had woken with complete memories. They were still in a state of confusion.
Their other brother, Brutus, continued to lie in his perpetual sleep.
Two days after they became conscious, Edgar demanded an audience with Hugo. Nathaniel volunteered to take his ancestor upstairs. When they reached the elevator, Hugo looked suspiciously at the small room that lay past the open doors.
'What is this?' he asked, frowning at Nate. 'You wish to imprison me?'
