The Devil's Company (48 page)

“What has also been demonstrated tonight is that Mr. Baghat is a skilled dissembler, and we believe him at our own hazard.” The words came out hard and fast, and as I spoke them I wondered if I remained truly suspicious or if I resented having been so soundly fooled. Or, it occurred to me, that I find it difficult to change my opinion of a man in the blink of an eye. Recognizing that I could not entirely trust my feelings in this, I softened my stance and rose briefly to bow in Aadil’s direction. “Nevertheless, it would be the wisest course to hear all you have to say and give credit to your words where I can.”

Aadil returned the bow, showing he had learned British customs as well as speech. “I appreciate your generosity.”

“It may be as much curiosity as generosity,” I said, without harshness. “Perhaps you can begin by informing me of your connection with Mr. Teaser here, and how it is that you came to his rescue so fortuitously.”

Teaser nodded gravely, as though to indicate that I had indeed chosen the right point to enter into these matters.

“It is for this gentleman here and Absalom Pepper that I came to your island in the first place. You must forgive me, sir,” Aadil said, turning to Teaser, “for I know you are kindly disposed to Mr. Pepper, and for me to say what I know I must speak ill of him.”

Teaser looked down. “It has become all too apparent to me that Owl was not the person I believed. Say what you must. I shall be no less stung for your keeping quiet.”

Aadil nodded. “Not two years ago, a low-level clerk working for his most imperial majesty, the Emperor Muhammad Shah Nasir ad Dîn, may he and his sons reign forever, received a very intriguing letter from Mr. Pepper, a letter he thought worthy of showing to his superiors, and they to theirs, and so it went until it reached the eyes of the Mogul’s top advisers. In this letter, Mr. Pepper announced that he had invented a remarkable engine, one that would enable ordinary Europeans to produce Indian-like calicoes from cottons farmed in the Americas. He had, in short, invented an engine that could damage one of my nation’s principal industries by providing it with a genuine rival.”

“So Forester was not wrong,” Elias said.

“He was not wrong to believe it could be done, though he was wrong about much else. Needless to say, the Mogul took a great interest in this project, but he believed it would be wiser to observe these matters from afar. As you know, the East India Company may well be a private trading concern, but it is so close to the British government as nearly to be a very part of it. To involve ourselves too directly might bring us dangerously close to war, and with an important trading partner too. So, instead, the Mogul dispatched agents, and to Mr. Pepper we delivered only silence.”

Elias was nodding. “So, having heard nothing from the Mogul, Pepper began to pursue matters on his own.”

“That is precisely what happened, sir. When he contacted us, he had only the plans for his engine. He had hoped we would pay handsomely to suppress this invention, but when we did not comply he began to pursue the manufacturing of a working model.”

“And to that end, Pepper needed capital,” I said. “And so he began to ply his charms and pursue a series of marriages, each with a dowry he might apply toward building his engine.”

“That was part of how he did it, yes,” Aadil agreed. “Pepper might have been a clever man, but he was not a schooled one. He had always made his way in the world by using his charm and becoming appearance, and old habits are not so easily banished, so it occurred to him to seek out such financial men as he could win over with his familiar tricks, which is to say, men who have a passion for other men.”

“And so it is he discovered me,” Teaser said, breaking his silence. “I have long worked upon Exchange Alley, brokering investments and investing for myself. Owl, whom you call Pepper, made me believe he felt a tenderness for me, and I could refuse him nothing. I gave him more than three hundred pounds.”

“And did he create his engine?” Elias asked.

“Perhaps he might have if he had gone to our friend here first,” Aadil said, “but, as with many foul schemes, Pepper’s began to take a great deal of effort to maintain. He had eleven households for which to provide, and he dared not abandon his wives, lest they come in search of him, discover his trickery, and see him hanged for his crimes. So it was that in his last days all the money he could raise went toward the maintenance of lies already told. For all that, he was too clever and too ambitious to content himself with this financial purgatory. In the end, he discovered, through his dealings with one broker, that there may be better ways to gain wealth than through marriage or amorous attachments. So Pepper began to seek out other investors. And it was in this way he met someone with whom I believe you have an acquaintance.”

“Cobb,” I said, feeling that all had begun to turn clear. Sadly for me, I could not have been more mistaken. I still understood nothing.

Aadil shook his head. “Not Mr. Cobb, though we shall come to him and his role soon enough. No, the man you know who helped to fund his scheme was a merchant of your own nation, a Mr. Moses Franco.”

A LONG SILENCE descended upon the room. Perhaps it was not so long. It may have been only a matter of a few seconds, but to my mind it stretched on unendingly. Teaser showed the puzzled expression of a man out of the know, and Aadil appeared to await my response, but Elias studied the rough wooden floor. He knew what I knew—that something was terribly wrong within my own camp, and a man I had believed to be an unwavering ally might be something entirely different.

But was he? A hundred thoughts raced through my mind. I had never spoken to Mr. Franco about Pepper, never mentioned his name. And he, for his part, had never concealed that he’d had dealings that involved the East India Company. Indeed, he’d told me that his dealings had been unfriendly, and that the Company had always viewed his interventions with a hostile eye. And why should they not, I wondered, if he had been endeavoring to support an invention that would shut down the better part of their trade? It troubled me that Franco had never mentioned this project to me, but then he might not have thought it relevant to my inquiry. Or, and perhaps more likely, he wished to protect his secret, at least for as long as he might do so without bringing harm to himself or me.

It was from these thoughts that I was suddenly jarred by the crash of glass and an explosion of light and heat. No, not heat, but hotness. Flame.

What had happened? I felt myself reacting before I even knew, for the room was ablaze. I was up and pulling Elias away from the heart of the flame while some distant corner of my consciousness told me what I had seen. A barrel, alight and clearly laden with lamp oil or some other flammable liquid, had come crashing in through the window. Elias was now moving toward the open window to escape, but I pulled him back.

“No,” I shouted. “Whoever wished to burn us is surely still out there, hoping to flush us out. We must flee with the rest of the patrons and lose ourselves in the crowd.”

“Agreed,” Aadil said, pulling Teaser by the arm.

I opened the door to our chamber, began to flee, but checked my pace. It became clear at once that ours was not the only room to have been so assaulted. For an instant I harbored the obscenely flattering idea that the attack had not been set upon us but that we had been hapless victims of circumstance, unfortunate bystanders to an unrelated conflict, but I knew this was a foolish hope. There were great powers at work against us, and there could be no denying that we were meant to burn to death.

Elias, who never claimed bravery—indeed, who nursed his cowardice the way other men nursed virtue—was out the door before me, and the instant I stepped through, another barrel came surging into our room, crashing against the wall in the only portion of the closet not yet ablaze. The flames spread in an instant, cutting off my view and access to Teaser and Aadil.

I paused, torn between safety and duty. Elias suffered no such conflict, and was already gone, mixed with the crowd, heading toward the nearest exit.

“Mr. Baghat!” I cried. “Are you unharmed?”

“Thus far,” he called back. “If you’ve a clear path, take it. I cannot make it out that way. My companion and I must take our chances with the window.”

“Use caution,” I began.

“Tend to yourself,” he shouted. “Go now, and we shall talk later.”

There was no arguing with such sound advice. I pushed my way into the mass of bodies now struggling to escape the tavern. There were shouts and cries and the sounds of cracking wood and breaking pottery. Thick smoke now filled the rooms, obscuring my view so that I could not see my best course. I had to trust that the people in front of me had some animal sense of safety that would lead us through the inferno. It was a terrible thing to have to trust strangers, but I did not see that I had much choice, so I moved forward, keeping my head down against the smoke, my shoulders hunched against the tongues of flame.

At last we poured out of doors. Already the constables were on hand, as well as neighbors come to fight the fire, passing bucket after bucket of water in order to splash them upon the building. I observed, even in my fear and relief, that they managed the situation as well as they could. There was no hope of saving the tavern—it was already as good as burned to ash—but the surrounding structures could be saved. We were fortunate in the weather, for the rain had picked up since we’d entered, and all around us, over the shouts of terror and the crackle of wood, came the sizzle of water against the advance of flame.

I wondered briefly if whoever had attempted to kill us would have tried a different method had it not been raining. Even a man who might murder without regret may find it harder to burn down half the city with as free a mind. There was no ease about this, however. I could see already that at least half a dozen people had been burned badly. They lay upon the dirt, screaming for aid.

Thus it was that I found Elias. He may have been no lionheart, but now that the danger had passed, he did not hesitate to lend his skills to the needy. He was kneeling over a young man, hardly more than a boy, really, whose arms had been badly scorched.

“Gather some of that snow,” he shouted to a woman standing nearby, one of the barmaids, I thought. “Press it upon his arm and don’t let him take it off for a full quarter hour.”

As he disengaged himself from this patient to see who was next most in need of his services—limited though they were, he would be the first to admit, for burns were terrible injuries—he suddenly went slack and pointed toward the building.

I saw at once what he had seen, though I might have wished I hadn’t. Stumbling from the flames like a man emerging from his own grave came Aadil. His clothes and skin had been scorched, and most of his stockings had been quite burned off. Horrible red burns covered his legs, and his face was a mass of soot darker even than his skin. But what troubled me most was the blood. It was on his face, his arms, his legs, but mostly his chest, and it was bubbling forth.

Elias and I both ran forward and caught him as he toppled over. It took nearly all our combined strength to keep him from falling to the ground. Once we set him down, Elias tore open his shirt. “He’s been shot,” he said. “At very close range, from the look of the powder burns on his clothes.”

“What can you do?”

He said nothing and looked away. I understood there was nothing to say.

“Teaser is dead,” Aadil gasped.

“Save your strength,” Elias told him.

He managed the briefest of laughs. “For what? I go to Paradise, and I have no fear of death, so you need not trouble yourself to comfort me.” He paused here so he could cough out mucousy blood.

“You did what you could,” I said. “Who shot you, Mr. Baghat? Did you see?”

“I tried to save him, but I could not get to him in time.”

“Who shot you, Mr. Baghat?” I said again. “Who did this to you so we might avenge you?”

He looked away and his eyes closed. I thought he was already dead, but it happened that he had one more utterance in him. He said: “Get help. Celia Glade.”

Having uttered these words, he breathed his last.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

E MEANT NO DISRESPECT TO OUR NEWFOUND AND QUICKLY LOST associate, but Elias and I recognized that we would do well to avoid any notice that might fall upon ourselves, and we certainly had no wish to fall in with any constables who might show their faces. I knew too well that a visit before a judge, no matter what one’s degree of guilt or innocence, could easily end in a lengthy stay in prison, and I was in no mood to attempt to explain myself even before that most mythical of creatures, the honest magistrate.