The Emperor of All Things

15

Tiamat



BUT THOUGH QUARE stood ready to follow Longinus, the man did not move. Instead, regarding Quare with a sceptical expression, he asked hesitantly: ‘This woman calling herself Grimalkin … What did she look like?’

‘You think it might have been Corinna?’ Quare asked. ‘But surely she would be an old woman by now. The woman I encountered did not appear to be much older than myself.’

Longinus pulled his hand from Quare’s and made a dismissive gesture, as if to push him away. ‘They are immortal beings and do not age as we do. Besides, I have reason to believe they can alter their shape to appear however they desire. But you’re right – how could it have been her? Why would she not have revealed herself to me?’ He seemed to be addressing himself as much as Quare. ‘No – it is impossible. The woman could not have been Corinna.’

‘You do not seem entirely convinced of it.’

Longinus sighed. ‘I wanted it to be her. I have missed her so much, you see. But as I told you a moment ago, their kind cannot cross over to our world as easily as they once did. No, it was not Corinna.’ He spoke with confidence now. ‘Nor was this woman sent by Corinna, for then she would have said as much, and I would have given her the watch freely. There would have been no need for her to fight, to kill those men. She could only have been sent by Doppler. There is no other possibility.’

‘It seems your wards were not as impenetrable as you thought,’ Quare observed.

Longinus made the same dismissive gesture. ‘I had heard rumours that Grimalkin had come out of retirement, as it were. So I spread rumours of my own, to entice him – for the idea that the imposter might be a woman had not occurred to me, any more than the possibility he was working for Doppler – to my house, where I hoped to expose him and learn his history. Instead, I was the one surprised, both by his – or, rather, her – fighting skill … and her knowledge of the watch. Though I had hidden it away inside a clock that was altogether unremarkable, she nevertheless saw through the disguise and snatched it without hesitation. Then, before I could react, she smashed a glass vial upon the floor, just such a vial as I had once used in my thieving days, containing chemicals that give birth to a dense, obscuring cloud, and, behind that screen, she fled, taking the clock with her. A most formidable adversary! Tell me, Mr Quare, was there anything distinctive about her? Any peculiarities that impressed themselves upon you?’

Quare did not have to consider long. ‘I saw her in moonlight, and she seemed to me like some maiden descended from that orb, her hair spun of moonbeams and shadows, her skin pale and luminous, without blemish. Her features were exotic, as if she were a blend of races unknown to me. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And, at the same time, the strangest.’

‘Why, I believe you fell a bit in love with her, Mr Quare!’

‘Love? I desired her, true enough. There was a kind of raw sensuality about her, and the effect she had on me was, I confess, not entirely unlike what you told me of your experiences in Märchen, though, as it were, in a minor key. But despite her allure, and the longing she inspired in me, I feared her, too. I had a sense that we were playing a kind of game … a deadly game in which only she knew the rules.’

‘A game?’

Quare nodded. ‘She told me that she would answer three questions truthfully – why, I felt as if I had stumbled into a fairy tale! But a dark one, for I believe she would have killed me in a second. Though I had the advantage of her, I suspect she could have done so with ease. I have never seen anyone move as swiftly as she did. But something prevented her. Bound her, as it were, against her will. She mentioned an ancient compact, but explained nothing more. It was most curious.’

‘And did you ask your three questions, Mr Quare?’

‘Two I asked, but not the third, for some intuition or instinct warned me that once she had answered, my life would be forfeit. It sounds ridiculous, I know. But at the time it was not ridiculous.’

‘And what did you ask her? Tell me everything.’

Quare blushed. ‘I’m afraid I wasted my first two questions. I didn’t understand the rules of our game and so did not take time to properly formulate my inquiries. Then, once I realized what was at stake, I took care to avoid anything that might be construed, however remotely, as a query.’

‘Most wise. So you left her there, did you, and returned to the guild hall with the watch, as you told Master Magnus?’

‘That is not quite true,’ Quare admitted. He decided that he would tell Longinus everything. There seemed no reason to keep his secrets any longer. This resolve brought a sense of relief that further encouraged him to honesty. ‘I had subdued her, more by luck than skill, yet though I had bound her hands securely behind her back, she freed herself – or, rather, was freed by an accomplice.’

‘An accomplice! You might have mentioned that detail sooner!’

‘Listen, and you will understand why I did not. The accomplice was a mouse, sir. No doubt you find that hard to credit. But so it was, as I saw to my astonishment. A trained mouse that nibbled through her bindings and then, quick as a wink, vanished into her clothing.’

Longinus gave a start. ‘A mouse, you say? Why, Corinna kept a mechanical mouse upon her person – I believe I mentioned it.’

‘Yes, but this was no machine, no automaton.’

‘You would have said the same had you seen the little dragon that lived in Frau Hubner’s cuckoo clock.’

‘So … you believe it was Corinna after all?’

Longinus considered, then shook his head. ‘No … for all the reasons I have said. But the mouse is meaningful. I am sure of it. It bespeaks some connection to her.’ He sighed again. ‘It is a riddle I cannot solve. Unless …’

Quare spoke into the hush. ‘Unless what?’

‘Nothing,’ Longinus said with a shrug. ‘An idle thought. Only, I regret not having had the opportunity to question this young woman.’

‘That would have been a most dangerous undertaking,’ Quare said. ‘I do not believe she would have spared you as she did me.’

‘Spared you? But she was at your mercy, was she not?’

‘I had my pistol pointed at her, but even so, I was not confident I could pull the trigger before she was upon me. She was that fast. But though free, she did not attack. The fight had gone out of her. Indeed, she seemed resigned to the loss of the watch. It was as if she’d had her chance and must abide by the result, however little she liked it. She was much struck by the fact that, in subduing her, I had spilled her blood – and she mine. That seemed, in her mind, to create a bond between us, to join us in some way I did not understand then and still do not, even now. Yet I cannot but recall the effect that my blood had upon the watch in Master Magnus’s study. I had thought that was the first time the watch had drunk my blood, but perhaps it had already tasted it, upon the rooftop. Perhaps, after all, it was not Magnus who awoke the watch with his probings, but I – or, rather, the girl and I. At any rate, she warned me of its dangers – called the watch a weapon – but made no attempt to take it back. Instead, she flung another of those glass vials to the rooftop and vanished into the cloud thus conjured. When the smoke lifted enough for me to see, she was gone. Nor did it seem that she had used the diversion to make her escape across the rooftops. There was not time enough for that. No, she disappeared, sir. Like a phantom, into thin air. And that is not the only time she did so.’

‘What? You have seen her again?’

‘Rather, it is she who has seen me. The other night, as I sat at the Pig and Rooster, she accosted me. Asked for my help in stealing back the watch, if you can believe it! But vanished as suddenly and completely as she had upon the rooftop, without shedding any more light on these mysteries. I confess, I have half expected to meet with her at any moment since. Indeed, there have been times I could have used her help! But I have had no further contact with her.’

‘Most intriguing,’ said Longinus. ‘You have given me much to consider, Mr Quare. But for now, I think it best that we resume our journey.’ He extended his hand again, and Quare clasped it. ‘Recall my warnings of a moment ago,’ he added. ‘Keep hold of my hand, no matter what, say nothing unless or until I indicate it is safe to do so, and shut your eyes until I give you leave to open them.’

‘Very well, but where—’

‘Humour me, Mr Quare. All will become clear.’

So saying, he took a step forward. Drawing a breath, and closing his eyes, Quare followed.

He had an impression of swift movement, almost as if he were falling, similar to but more pronounced than what he had experienced in the stair-master. Despite his intention to comply with Longinus’s instructions, he could not control an involuntary reaction – he opened his eyes. Madness confronted him. There was no fixed point of reference upon which to hang his understanding. Up, down, sideways: none of those terms described what he was seeing, or his position in it. The room in which he had been standing seemed to have stretched out to an infinite length, as though it had become a corridor leading to the very end of the universe. In the process its walls and floor and ceiling had faded to insubstantiality. Through them he could see other corridors, more than he could count, cutting through this one at every angle imaginable … and some he could not have imagined. Amidst this dizzying display he saw that Longinus was still taking the step which had begun the journey; his foot had not come down. Yet the sensation of movement grew more intense by the second, and the strange elongation of the room and everything in it – including Longinus and himself – accelerated. It was as if they were standing still, frozen in place, while around them the world was being pulled away in all directions at a speed greater than time could measure or human senses perceive, so that each object was, or seemed to be, in multiple locations at once. Longinus’s leg stretched farther and farther ahead, becoming increasingly attenuated. It no longer resembled a human limb but rather a black line … and the same was true of his own leg: two black lines extending in parallel into an immeasurable distance. But not straight. The lines, which were yet somehow themselves, traced a route that was full of sharp and sudden turns, abrupt cornerings that should have shattered bone but did not; instead, their legs bent as easily as copper wire being threaded through the labyrinth of a watch’s insides. Quare would have cried out, screamed in terror, but even that would have required more presence of mind than he possessed just then.

‘Close your eyes,’ hissed Longinus beside him.

But it was too late for that. Quare felt as if he had become a single all-seeing eye, open to everything, mute witness to a reality he could not comprehend. He clung to Longinus’s hand with every bit of strength and intention in him; how easy it would be to forget that he had a hand, that he was a body, that he had some stable, enduring centre which could not be dissipated in this place, swallowed up in its crazed immensity.

‘This may,’ gasped Longinus, ‘have been a mistake. Something is tugging at me, pulling me towards it, too strong to resist. I am sorry.’

And with that, the world returned to normal. Limbs and everything else shrank to their customary proportions. Quare stumbled, wrenching his hand from Longinus’s grasp. He looked around in wonder; they stood upon a London rooftop. He sank to his knees, dumbfounded.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Longinus. ‘That has never happened before. I had thought Doppler must have caught us and was reeling us in, like an angler his prey. But we are quite alone here – wherever we are.’

‘I know where we are,’ Quare managed to gasp out at last. He clutched his arms about his chest, shivering as if with cold.

‘Do you? Pray enlighten me, Mr Quare.’

Quare breathed deeply. He felt as if he might be sick again. But finally the nausea receded enough for him to go on. ‘This is where I caught up with Grimalkin. Why did you bring us here? And how?’

‘I did not bring us to this place,’ Longinus said. ‘My intended destination was quite other. I had thought to show you the peak of Mount Coglians. As to how …’ He shrugged. ‘I have the ability to walk between worlds, to cover vast distances in the blink of an eye.’ He spoke matter-of-factly. ‘I have no idea how it works, but it is as if I were wearing a pair of seven-league boots, like Jack in the fairy tale. Only in my case it is not magical footwear but instead the wondrous foot with which I was fitted in Märchen. With this appendage, there is no earthly room I cannot enter, no door that can lock me out, no distance I cannot travel. I need merely think of the place, take a step, and I am there. It is the secret of my success as a thief … or was, until, over time, I began to sense that I was not alone in my journeying, that others were present in that in-between realm of which you, too, have now caught a glimpse: vague shapes and shadows, or things even less substantial than that … yet which nevertheless filled me with unease, as though their insubstantiality did not make them harmless but, rather, more dangerous than I knew. Creatures of the Otherwhere, perhaps. Or agents dispatched by Doppler. Perhaps both. In any case, I became convinced that I was being hunted. I did not care to discover by whom … or what. Some years ago, after a particularly narrow escape, I stopped travelling in this way altogether. I had no wish to push my luck.’

‘But if you did not bring us here, who did?’

‘Why, I can only assume it was you, Mr Quare.’

‘I assure you I did no such thing.’

‘Not consciously, perhaps. Yet do you not find it telling that we were discussing this very place before we set out? In the past, the mechanism – or some lively spirit bound within it – fastened upon my intent and translated it into action. And indeed, it was that demonstration I hoped would convince you of the truth of my words. But this time I believe it was your intent that was translated, that overpowered my own. For some reason, Mr Quare, it is you who are the master of this magic – or, if you prefer, this science indistinguishable therefrom. Whatever it is, it answers to your whim above my will.’

‘B-but why?’ Quare stammered. ‘How?’

‘No doubt the answer lies in your connection to the hunter. Both artefacts had their origin in Märchen, after all, and both, or so it seems, were crafted by the same hand. Your blood brought the watch to life, whether here on this rooftop or later, in Magnus’s laboratory: provided it with a motive power it had lacked until that moment, and through that shedding of blood you gained a second life, for the watch stepped in when you were mortally wounded and miraculously preserved you. Perhaps even now, for all we know, it is the only thing keeping you alive.’

Quare shuddered, still on his knees. The afternoon was drawing on towards evening, the sun dipping low in a hazy, coal-smudged sky. His shadow, and that of Longinus, stretched across the dirty rooftop, a stark reminder of what he had seen as they travelled here. Longinus had called him the master of the magic, yet he did not feel himself to be the master of anything, least of all himself. He wanted to run … but run where? To lash out … but against whom? There was no place of refuge, no enemy to strike.

‘Come,’ said Longinus gently, as if pitying his distress, and once again extended a hand to him. ‘The hour grows late. We must ready ourselves for what lies ahead. Let us return to my house.’

Quare drew back. ‘Do you mean to take us back by the same route that brought us here?’

‘There is no other way,’ Longinus said. ‘For all its risks, it is safer than trying to navigate the streets of London, where we may be recognized and apprehended at any moment.’

‘And once we are safely returned, what then? Will we step from your house to the guild hall in the blink of an eye?’

‘Alas, that is beyond my power. The presence of so many ticking timepieces fences me out, even were I to try and step directly into the Old Wolf’s den. His clocks may keep a common time, yet though that regularity does not, as it were, throw up an impenetrable wall, like the one protecting my own house and its environs, it does engender obstacles, like the bars of a cell that are too narrow to squeeze through from either side. But never fear – I have another way to get us into the guild hall.’

‘You mean for us to return as we escaped – through the air? I tell you truly, sir, I am sick to death of such unorthodox means of transportation as you seem so readily to employ.’

Longinus smiled. ‘I assure you, Mr Quare, I have in mind a more mundane means of entry.’

Quare grunted. He took Longinus’s hand and allowed the other man to pull him to his feet. ‘Somehow, I do not find that comforting.’

‘But you believe me, don’t you?’ Longinus asked rather anxiously. ‘Surely, after all this, you must believe!’

‘I don’t know what I believe any more,’ Quare said. ‘I cannot explain how we came here; I cannot even explain what I saw along the way.’

‘What did you see?’ Longinus asked, peering at him with genuine curiosity. ‘All those years ago, when I escaped from Märchen, Corinna told me that the Otherwhere revealed itself differently to everyone who passed through it. That is why I warned you to close your eyes, as she had warned me, once upon a time. And to as little effect. To me, it has always seemed as it did then: a maze of corridors, with doorways leading to various destinations. Somehow – until this evening – I have always moved unerringly to the correct door; the rightness of it has always been apparent to me. But this time, I could sense immediately that the door was wrong – it was not the door that would lead to Mount Coglians. But I could not hold back from entering it.’

‘I did not see anything like that,’ Quare said. ‘I saw … But I do not have the words for it.’ A shiver ran through him. ‘Madness. That is what I saw. Madness.’

‘Yet even that may be proof of a kind,’ Longinus said.

Quare gave a sickly laugh. ‘Proof that the universe is mad?’

‘Or that we humans, for all our vaunted intellect and powers of reason, are helpless when confronted by the true mystery of existence.’

‘That is no comfort,’ Quare said.

‘Why, the truth seldom is,’ Longinus answered, raising his eyebrows. ‘At least, not at first. It is always painful to have one’s illusions dispelled. But salutary. Would you not rather know the truth than continue in ignorance?’

‘But what good is that knowledge if it merely reveals the extent of our helplessness, our ignorance?’

‘Every increase in knowledge is beneficial in and of itself,’ Longinus answered. ‘And perhaps we are not so helpless after all, Mr Quare. What seems like magic or miracle – or, indeed, madness – may be nothing more than a mechanism we do not yet understand. But that does not mean it lies forever beyond our understanding. Or our mastery.’

‘It sounds as though you would make yourself one of them,’ Quare said. ‘Raise yourself above the human and become a god.’

Longinus’s eyes flashed; suddenly Quare was reminded that the man, for all his eccentricity and fondness for disguise, was an aristocrat, a peer of the realm. ‘We are beings of reason and self-awareness. Our birthright is one of dignity and freedom. No one has a right to be our masters. If I would raise myself to their level, what of it? How better to pull them down?’

‘Why? To take their place? Exchange one pantheon for another, make yourself the Zeus to Doppler’s Cronos?’

‘I am an Englishman, sir,’ Longinus responded with heat. ‘I am no advocate of absolute monarchy, not in this world or any other. I have not forgotten Corinna’s words: that Doppler and the rest are not fallen but risen angels, and how their sin lay not in rebellion but rather in the act of setting themselves above others. And yet, is it right that we humans, through no fault of our own, find ourselves locked out of the Otherwhere and whatever lies beyond it?’

‘I do not know,’ Quare said. ‘I wish I had not learned of it, or seen it with my own eyes. I wish I could forget it now – all of it.’

‘Yes, but not even Doppler’s watch can turn back time and erase the past. What’s done is done and cannot be undone. I am afraid there is no forgetting, Mr Quare – for either of us. Fate, or some other power, has touched us, changed us. We are no longer what we were. For us, there can be no going back. Only forward.’

Quare nodded grimly. ‘Then let us go forward, by all means.’

Together, side by side, they returned to the Otherwhere. And this time, Quare did not flinch or close his eyes, but faced as squarely as he could the madness that he saw there. He did not try to make sense of it, to squeeze its disparate dimensions into the Procrustean bed of his reason; instead, he let it wash over and through him. And to his surprise, he did not go mad. He did not become so attenuated, so stretched out, that nothing remained of him, as he had feared might happen. He was not swallowed up. He felt it now: this place, for all its terrible strangeness, was not foreign to him … at least, not any longer. Longinus was right. He had been changed. He was no intruder here, no trespasser. He belonged. It was as if something that had been within him all his life, but so deeply asleep he had not known of its existence, or even suspected it, had awakened at last, and was now sitting up in bed and rubbing the last grains of sleep from its eyes, looking out with wonder and eager anticipation upon the home it had been dreaming of. That part of himself did not see madness here. Instead, it grasped the order within the chaos. How could he have failed to see it before? Why, the path back to Wichcote House was so clear a child could not miss it! Laughing now, he brought his foot down and finished the step he had begun on a rooftop miles away.

‘That was … most interesting,’ said Longinus, standing beside him in the same room from which they had departed. ‘Not since Corinna brought me out of Märchen have I felt so … superfluous on a journey through the Otherwhere.’ As he spoke, he methodically set into motion all the timepieces he had stopped in the room, beginning with the larger clocks and then moving on to the pile of watches on the table, each of which he returned to its place upon his person.

‘I saw the way,’ Quare said. ‘The path was plain – I merely followed it.’

‘And now?’ Longinus asked, turning to study him. ‘Can you still see the path? Could you follow it if you liked?’

Quare shook his head. ‘The path is gone. Everything is as it was. Why do you ask?’

‘You brought us here so easily that I wondered if you might be able to travel through the Otherwhere entirely on your own – whether you needed me at all. Corinna required no talisman to enter that maze or navigate its twists and turns; it was her birthright.’

‘You think I am like her?’

‘I do not know what to think about you, Mr Quare. You are a mystery. A paradox. My time in Märchen changed me greatly from what I had been, but you have been changed more greatly still without ever setting foot there. Look at yourself, sir. You stand before me, a living and breathing man who yet bears a mortal wound. By all rights, you should be stretched out in a coffin. And that is not all. You have taken to the Otherwhere like a fish to water. I led you from this room, but it was you who brought me back. Do I think you are like Corinna, like Doppler and his kind?’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps you are something new. Human, yet also more than human. You warned me of the dangers in seeking to raise myself above my natural station. But haven’t you been raised in just that way?’

Quare shook his head again, more vehemently now. ‘You would make me into something I am not – something I have no wish to be.’

‘It is not I who have done the making,’ Longinus answered.

‘I am as I always was,’ Quare insisted.

‘Are you indeed?’

Quare found himself growing angry. ‘I do not wish to discuss this any further,’ he said. ‘And if you want my help, you will not press me.’

Longinus sketched a bow. ‘I meant no offence. And I am gratified that you have decided to help – or so I judge by your words.’

‘Yes, I’ll help,’ Quare growled. ‘I do not think I have a choice. Not if I wish to learn what has happened to me. It is all bound up with that cursed watch. Perhaps, if I can examine it again, or even hold it in my hands, much will become clear.’

‘For your sake, I pray it is so,’ Longinus said. ‘Yet we must not count our chickens before they are hatched. A difficult and dangerous task lies before us, Mr Quare, with no guarantee of success. Indeed, I should judge the odds very much against us.’

‘You have a strange way of inspiring confidence,’ Quare observed.

‘It is to avoid overconfidence that I speak so plainly. But we shall have a few tricks up our sleeve, never fear. With a bit of luck, we will prevail.’

‘What, then, is your plan?’

‘There will be time enough for that later,’ Longinus said. ‘We must wait until the very witching hour of the night before we make our move. I suggest, until then, that you get some rest. That is certainly my intention. We must be at the top of our game tonight, Mr Quare. There will be no room for hesitation or error.’

‘I don’t believe I could sleep now even if I wanted to,’ Quare said.

‘Nevertheless, I advise you to try. Before my retirement, I went on many such missions as this, some on behalf of Master Magnus, others for reasons of my own, and I learned the value of this approach. Sleep if you can; and if you cannot, why, then do whatever it is that relaxes you. Have a hot bath—’

‘So that you can drug me again?’ Quare demanded.

‘I apologize for having done so last night. You need not fear a repetition. I am a great believer in the benefits of daily bathing; it is a habit I learned on my travels to the east. But if a bath will not relax you, try a book. Tinker with one of my timepieces if you like. I will send a man to wake you, or simply fetch you, as the case may be, shortly before midnight. Then we will fortify ourselves with a brief repast, and I will explain how we are going to gain entry to the guild hall, and how we shall proceed once we are there. In the meantime, should you require anything, the bell pull in your room will summon a servant. Oh, and one more thing, Mr Quare. Your pocket watch.’ Longinus passed it to him. ‘Wind it,’ he added after Quare had taken the watch and made to tuck it into his waistcoat pocket. ‘It may be that in moving through the Otherwhere, you have revealed yourself to Doppler or one of his minions. If so, they will be seeking you now. The defences of the house are likely sufficient to protect you, but it cannot hurt to get into the habit of shielding yourself as I do. In any case, I will be providing you with a number of watches to distribute about your person before we depart tonight.’

Such was the intensity of Longinus’s gaze that Quare felt obliged to follow his suggestion. Yet as he wound the watch, he couldn’t help feeling a deep-seated wrongness. It disturbed him to use the watch in a way that was contrary to its intended purpose: not to tell the correct time, but instead to employ a false time in order to confuse and misdirect … Of course, if what Longinus had told him was true, then everything he had ever known – or thought he had known – about time was wrong. But despite all he had heard and experienced, he was far from ready to accept his host’s assertions on that subject. He was far from even understanding them.

Back in his room – to which he had been led by a servant – Quare divested himself of coat and sword. A hot bath had been drawn in his absence, and so tempting were the steaming waters that he decided to risk them. He thought it unlikely that Longinus would drug him again, not if he required Quare’s assistance in retrieving the hunter from the Old Wolf in a matter of hours.

The water was hot enough to make him catch his breath, but he released it in a long, luxurious sigh as he settled down. The tub resembled a giant tin boot; there was ample room to stretch his legs out in front of him, while his back was firmly supported. The water smelled of fresh limes.

He could feel tension seeping from his body, but his mind was not so readily soothed. The details of Longinus’s adventures in Märchen, added to his own experiences of the past few days, left him feeling as though he had stumbled into a fairy tale. A nightmare, rather. And at the centre of it all, the uncanny pocket watch that, so it seemed, had belonged to Herr Doppler, a creature of the Otherwhere so powerful he was indistinguishable from a god.

Or, if Longinus were to be believed, not a watch at all, but a weapon, a time bomb whose purpose was to destroy everything that existed, to scour the universe free of life and order like some great cosmic Flood, returning things to a primal soup of limitless potential, so that a single survivor, Doppler, not a fallen but a risen angel, might begin again. Where, in this insane cosmology, was there room for the Christian God, the loving God who had created all things, visible and invisible, had wound them up like a watch and set them in motion, then stepped back into his heaven to watch the flawless operation of his benign universal machine? Quare had never considered himself to be religious; on the contrary, he had prided himself on his rational approach to the mysteries of life. Yet he had always, he realized now, kept a childish faith in the God of his boyhood tucked away in a corner of his heart, all but forgotten. Only now, that faith was being tested for the first time. More than tested: it was being overwhelmed. Routed. There was no room for such pretty delusions in the real world, the world in which a pocket watch might run on blood, a deadly stabbing have no more effect than a pinprick, a mechanical foot enable a leagues-spanning stride. A world of dragons, dwarfs and succubi, as if all the old myths and legends were true. A world that floated, like a bubble of time, on a vast sea of un-being: the Otherwhere. And in which time itself was … what? A disease? A drug? An imperfection introduced into a perfect creation, a flaw in that glittering jewel, the original original sin? It seemed to be all of those things and more – for it also protected this place from Doppler, all the mismatched timepieces throwing up a snarl of thorny time, like the forest of briars surrounding the castle of Sleeping Beauty.

And what of his role? Why had he of all people been chosen … for it seemed to Quare that he had been chosen, that there was more to his involvement than just bad luck, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, the conviction had been growing in him for some time, and by now it was so strong that he could not doubt it any longer: everything that had happened to him had happened for a reason, in response to a greater intention than his own, a sovereign will that could not be denied, that had pulled and pushed and prodded him towards the fulfilment of its ends just as he, however unknowingly, had forced Longinus from his chosen path in the Otherwhere.

But what reason? And whose will?

He didn’t want any of it. Didn’t want to play whatever part had been prepared for him. There were wars within wars, it seemed. A war in heaven, so to speak, between Doppler and his followers and those, like Corinna, who opposed him. A war that centred upon the hunter, which Grimalkin had been sent to acquire on behalf of one side or the other – he wasn’t sure where her allegiance lay. And, mirroring it, a war on earth, between England and her enemies, chief among them France: a war that could very well determine not just the fate of his country but that of the hard-won liberties which were the birthright of all Englishmen. And that war, too, centred upon the watch, for Aylesford had been sent in quest of it, and the Old Wolf, who now possessed it, yearned to unlock its deadly secrets and use them in defence of king and country. But in doing so, Quare now understood, he would only be serving the interests of Doppler. And the same would be true if it were Aylesford who possessed the watch and brought it to his French masters to further the cause of Scottish liberty.

He saw now that the watch could not safely be used by any human being. Whoever did so risked acting on Doppler’s behalf. Yet neither could it be hidden away. Recent events had proved that. Doppler and his fellow creatures were immortal, after all. A human lifetime was nothing to them. They could be patient in their pursuit of the hunter. Sooner or later, it must come to light.

No, he realized, the watch had to be destroyed. That was the only way. But was it even possible? And if it was, could the hunter be destroyed without unleashing whatever terrible forces it contained? If the watch were destroyed, would it take the world with it? He remembered what it had felt like in the aftermath of the watch’s brief awakening, when the world had seemed to blink in and out of existence, and Master Magnus’s beloved cats had died: all of them, in an instant. He remembered the sight of their limp corpses lying like so many scattered leaves strewn by a whirlwind. Then he imagined London filled with such corpses: human corpses: the bodies of men, women and children felled as they went about their daily business, like victims of a plague far swifter and less merciful than the Black Death. Some, at least, had survived that calamity. But he did not think there would be even a single survivor of this one. Apart from Doppler, anyway.

Despite the warmth of the bathwater, a shiver rippled through him. He felt more alone than he could remember ever having felt since his orphan days in the workhouse. In that moment, the image of Grimalkin came to him, the memory of her moonlit face on the rooftop, and, later, that same face smeared with paint yet still lovely, exotic in its beauty. Who was she? Where had she gone? He could not help but feel that she knew the answers to his questions, if she would but speak plainly. He recalled how she had vanished from the rooftop, and disappeared in the blink of an eye from the Pig and Rooster, and he wondered if she, like Longinus, had access to the Otherwhere. Was she a traveller in that strange country … or a denizen of it? And what of the connection she claimed, the bonds of blood that linked them? Those bonds, if they existed, had not pulled her to him, or he to her, for that matter, when he navigated the Otherwhere or at any other time.

Quare’s ruminative gaze settled upon the Chinese screen that stood at the foot of the bath. The scene depicted there, of a peaceful, mist-wreathed mountain landscape, seemed to call to him as it had before. What would it be like to step from this world into that one? Longinus had asked if he could still see the path he had followed back from the rooftop, wondering if Quare possessed the same ability he did to traverse the Otherwhere, but whatever ability or instinct had guided Quare on the return journey seemed to have deserted him now. He saw no path, no doorway … unless the screen were itself a door. Yet he did not see a means of passing through it and into the remote but restful scene beyond, which, as he studied it with weary, unfocused longing, seemed to grow more real, though without becoming more immediate, as if he were gazing through a window that could neither be opened nor broken.

And then, as though it had been there all along, just waiting for the opportunity to show itself, a wingless dragon drifted into view, its long body eeling through the air, seeming to swim there: blue-scaled, wide-eyed, open jaws revealing teeth that looked sharp enough to shear through iron as easily as they might rend flesh and bone.

It hovered before him, within or behind the screen, the undulations of its body, like the gentle flexions of a water snake, holding it fixed in mid-air … and holding Quare’s attention, too, the movements deeply entrancing, as was the thing’s gaze, its eyes as big as plates yet placid as the eyes of a hare, sky-blue irises with centres of inky night.

Those eyes regarded him with shrewd intelligence … if intelligence was even the right word for what he saw there, and the longer he looked in mute fascination, the more certain Quare was that it was not, at least not by any human standard … though he had no better word, either. He felt a breeze caress his skin, and the tangy smell of limes grew stronger, more concentrated, seeming to emanate from the dragon itself. The scent had a stimulating aphrodisiacal effect; he felt himself grow hard, his erection pointing towards the dragon like the needle of a compass fixed at true north. He felt no shame – nor even excitement; the effect seemed to be independent of his will or desire, a reflex over which he had no control, exactly like what Longinus had reported of his erotic encounters in Märchen.

‘You may call me Tiamat,’ the dragon said without preface, and he felt neither surprise nor fear at hearing it speak. ‘But do not imagine that is my real name and think to use it against me. Three questions will I answer freely. Think well before you ask.’

Quare felt as if he had entered into a dream. ‘Three nights ago, I had a thief at my mercy. Grimalkin was her name. She, too, invited me to ask three questions, as in a fairy tale of old. She spoke of an ancient compact …’

‘The Law of Threes,’ the dragon said, its jaws spreading wide as if in silent laughter. Its teeth were the size and shape of scimitars. From its throat came a rumble of thunder. Then: ‘Do you think I am at your mercy?’

‘No,’ he said. And the knowledge was upon him from he knew not where: ‘Neither am I at yours.’

The dragon lashed its tail. ‘Not here,’ it admitted. ‘Not now. But know that things will go differently between us if we meet outside this screen and you do not please me.’

By screen, Quare understood the dragon – Tiamat, it had named itself – to mean not just the ornamental partition with its delicate Chinese brushwork but the barrier of time erected by so many clocks and watches ticking away in riotous disharmony. A distant part of him was amazed at his calmness, his ability to face the dragon without fear, naked and erect as he was, all but imprisoned within the narrow confines of the bath. Was he dreaming? Had he been drugged again? Or was the dragon casting some kind of spell over him? He did not know, and, strangely, it did not seem important. What did seem important was what questions he should put to the beast. He had wasted the three questions Grimalkin had offered him; he would not make that mistake again. ‘Two nights ago,’ he said at last, choosing his words with care, ‘I received a wound that should have killed me. Yet I did not die. How is that possible?’

‘All men die,’ Tiamat answered. ‘That is their nature, and the nature of all time-bound things.’

This was not illuminating. The dragon seemed to be suggesting that he had died after all. For the first time, Quare felt a frisson of real fear. It warned him to pursue the matter no further, lest he learn things he could not unlearn, truths that would destroy him.

‘Tell me about the watch,’ he said instead. ‘The hunter. What is its secret?’

Tiamat grinned, baring its formidable teeth again. ‘It is just what you have called it: a hunter. It hunts. That is its secret, or one of them. It has drunk your blood and left its mark upon you. That is how I sensed you. It will answer to you now, protect you … but do not imagine yourself its master. It is a weapon, a very great weapon – too great to be left in the hands of men.’

Too great to be left in anyone’s hands, Quare thought to himself. ‘If you’ve come to get it back, you’re out of luck,’ he said. ‘I don’t have it any more.’

‘But you know where to find it,’ the dragon said. ‘You will bring it to me.’

‘Why should I – so that you can give it to Doppler?’

‘No … but what do you know of Doppler?’ the creature asked in turn.

‘Longinus has told me of his experiences in Märchen and the Otherwhere. He met a dragon there – Hesta was her name. Her master was a man called Doppler. Or, rather, a thing that wore the shape of a man.’

‘Longinus understands less than he imagines. But you are right that Doppler only wore the shape of a man. Just as I wear the shape of a dragon. Why? Because it is fitting – that is to say, it suits me. We are born of what you called the Otherwhere, and our true forms are beyond physical representation. To take on any form diminishes us – but some forms diminish us more than others, as they are in some sense further from our origins and what we truly are. But to answer your question – I do not serve Doppler. He is as much my enemy as he is yours. You must give me the hunter because I am the only one who can keep it from him. There is war among the immortals, a war in which the fate of all that lives hangs in the balance. Whoever holds the hunter holds the key to victory. If Doppler should win, he will use it.’

‘And you won’t?’

‘That is your fourth question. I could answer and put you in my debt. But to show my good faith, I will answer freely one last time. I have no intention of using the hunter. On the contrary, I mean to destroy it.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Quare said.

‘It is too dangerous to use. To dangerous to keep. It was a mistake to make it. It must be unmade. That is why I have come to you, Daniel Quare.’

‘Why me? Why not Longinus?’

‘Because you understand that it must be destroyed, while he does not. And that answer I do not give freely. You have incurred a debt.’

‘No,’ Quare said. Truly, he had not meant to ask another question. It had just slipped out. Unless the dragon had coerced him somehow …

‘You should have kept better count,’ Tiamat said, and its grin grew wider still, as though to devour him. ‘By ancient compact, I have the right to lay a geis – a fateful compulsion – upon you. And this right I do hereby invoke. Seek out the hunter. It has tasted your blood and will tug at you no matter where it may be. Once you have it, call to me and I will come.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You will,’ the dragon said. ‘Whether you fight it or not, whether you believe it or not, you answer to me now.’

Before Quare could reply, the dragon flexed its muscular coils, and there was something irresistible in the movement, a sovereign directive that sank deeper than reason, right into the animal heart of him. Suddenly he was ejaculating with a force that nearly bent him over in the bath, wringing him like a sponge. There was nothing remotely sensual about it; it seemed more like an act of rape.

The next instant, Quare jerked upright, shivering in water that had grown ice cold. The Chinese screen stood where it had always stood; of Tiamat, there was no sign. Someone was knocking at the door to his room.