The Hourglass (24 page)

“My apologies, Monsieur…?”

“F, Effe.”

Ardeth bowed. Effe bowed back. A duchess’s drawing room could not have been more polite. Then Effe said, “A pleasure,
certainement
, but just what are you doing here? I have the boy on my list.” He checked the hourglass he held. “Quite on time, too.”

“I want you to take him off your list.”

Effe laughed, sort of. “You know I cannot do that.”

“I know you can, if you wish.”

“I can give you a minute or two,
oui
, as a favor. No more.”

Ardeth looked at the small shimmering hourglass, the mirror image of the one he used to carry. Only a scattering of grains of sand remained in the top chamber. For an instant Ardeth wondered if he could overpower Effe, steal the hourglass, save the boy, and claim it for himself. Thus saving himself.

No, there would be hell to pay for sure. And the Devil only knew what would happen to Effe.

“I would like to make a bargain with you,” Ardeth said.

“Himself would have the catfits.”

“His Grimness would not have to know.”

“Ha, that’s what you think.”

Ardeth raised an eyebrow. “Old Grimmy never knew what I was doing all those years. Do you think he keeps track of every death, every second?”

“I never thought about it,
vraiment
. I just do my job.”

“And I am sure you have done well at it.”

“That is right,” Effe said, puffing up his shrouding cloak. “No needless suffering, no more pain. No hysteria, either, if I can help it. I hate that, when they fight.”

Ardeth nodded. “You are a good”—not man, not soul, not friend—“worker. That is why I need you to help me now.”

“But why? My mishandling of the hourglass will not gain you more months to win your bet.”

“I know that, yet I still need him to live. The boy’s survival has nothing to do with my own, except in a way you cannot understand. I know I did not use to see. I just did my job, too, until I grew to hate it. Now I have other needs. Tell me, is there no one on this plane you would have me rescue? No wrongs to right, no family to care for? With the French defeated, your descendants might need help. I could make them rich in their own country or bring them here. With enough gold I could make them part of the new government.”

Effe shook his head. “
Non
. It has been so long I do not remember any family or friends or why they might want to be at court. I never followed their progress through the ages. All the Letters agreed it was better that way, I thought. All but you, it seems.”

“Then is there anything you want for yourself? No bauble you covet?”

“To do what with?” Effe thought for a minute. “I suppose I could ask for the Devil’s lucky bone. They say he was madder at losing it than losing you. You still have it, don’t you?”

Ardeth reached into his pocket and held up the relic. “It does not seem to work well for me now, although I am reluctant to test it too far. But, here, you could give it back to him, in return for some favor you wish. You could make another wager like mine.”

The hooded figure shuddered, backing away. “I avoid his company whenever I can. Besides, he’d never make another such deal.”

“No, I doubt he’d let himself be tricked twice.”

“If you must know, everyone thought you were brilliant, and they are all furious that he changed the wager on you. Now no one wants to play in Hell, so Satan is nastier than ever. But no, I would not touch his lucky charm.”

So that avenue was closed to Ardeth. Some Deaths were prouder than others. “I do not suppose you would look the other way while I shook the hourglass?”

“I cannot.”

“But he is just a boy.” Ardeth had heard that millions of times.

Effe gave the same answer. “They all were, once.”

Ardeth leaned back against the wall, almost defeated.

“Is there no one, nothing, here that you care about? Is there no one you have met in your wanderings who touched your heart?”

Effe looked as sad as one with no face or features could look. His hood sagged. “Don’t you remember, Ar? We have no hearts. No one with feelings could do our work. Maybe that was your trouble. Someone erred at the indoctrination.”

“No, I was as cold and merciless as any dark angel.”

“Here now, I am not a bad fellow.”

“Then help me! Help the child.”

“You really do care.”

“I do.”

“He is not yours, is he? You have not been gone long enough.”

“No, he is not mine, but he has a place in here.” He tapped his chest, where a man’s heart beat. “And I have
to try.”

Effe thought a minute. “Now that I recall, there was a soldier this morning, right here in London. Poor man came back from war to live with his widowed sister and her five children. He has no money, no job, no prospects. I had to collect the sister.”

“I’ll make the man a generous gift, so he can hire nursemaids and tutors.”

“That won’t do. He is a man. Pride, you know.”

Ardeth bit back his own. “Then what can I offer?”

“A job, a place to live, a mother for his new children.”

“Done. Ardsley Keep needs good men. I can train him to keep the books, clean the stables, whatever suits his aptitude. The children can go to the new school, and my wife likes to matchmake.”

“That might do.” Effe held the hourglass up. Only
three or four grains of sand were left. “My stop before that was at the home of a miserly old woman.”

“What, is her family destitute now, too?”

“No, they were already counting her gold before I left. All but the lady’s companion. That poor woman was not even mentioned in the will, so she is left with no home, no position, and no references, with the old bird’s heart giving out so suddenly. Worse, she seemed to hold the skinflint in some affection.”

“My wife can use a new companion. I’d wager Miss Hadley and Vinross will set up housekeeping on their own soon enough.”

Effe ignored him, now that he was remembering. “And the one before that, a shoemaker, left his wife with no sons to take over the business. She needs help.”

“Done!”

Two grains were left. The child’s breaths were further and further apart.

“Oh, and I did have to collect a vicar whose family will be displaced from the manse by the new occupants, and a flower seller with no one to claim her body for burial. Are you writing all this down?”

“I am memorizing it. I will take care of everyone, I swear. A wife, a position, a home, an apprentice shoemaker, a funeral. What else?”

“The old lady who fell down the stairs worried about her cat.”

“Tabby will eat fish for the rest of her life.”

“That retired schoolmaster out in Kensington will be lonely without his wife. And then there is the Covent Garden whore who killed her procurer. Self-defense,
naturellement
,
but she might hang. But can I trust you? You cheated the Devil, after all.”

“I swear on my honor as a man.”

Effe was growing pensive and philosophical, now that he had begun thinking. “Did I have any honor, do you suppose?”

Ardeth wanted to shake the bastard as he watched the next-to-last grain of sand fall. “You have centuries more to wonder. But I have enough honor for both of us.”

Effe sighed. “I guess I am a gambler after all. I trust you.” And he turned the hourglass upside down. The light went out. Effe passed through the wall.

Ardeth started to light more candles so he could see the boy better. Peter was breathing more smoothly, without any rattle. He opened his eyes, looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings and the tall man bending over him.

“Olive?”

“Yes,” was all Ardeth could say. Yes, the boy would live.

But Peter was pointing toward the window, where the crow was tapping on the glass.

“Alive?” Ardeth heard him caw.

“Yes.”

Olive hopped up and down, flapping against the window. Peter held his hand out.

Ardeth took it, glad to feel the child’s grasp. “No, you cannot play with the bird until you are well and strong.”

The boy looked at his new uncle with suspicion.

“Soon, I promise.”

Peter smiled and went back to sleep, Ardeth’s hand in his.

Chapter Eighteen

Lorraine was crying, this time in happiness. Her husband was pouring champagne. Their son was sleeping peacefully, breathing easily, after having a bowl of porridge. They were celebrating in the sitting room between the master bedrooms, while the nursemaid watched over Peter in the baron’s dressing room.

Ardeth refused a glass. “No, there is no time for celebration. And no telling what the future may bring,” he warned as he took another piece of paper from Genie, who was seated at the escritoire while he paced beside the desk. “Take the boy to the country in a few days, where the air is cleaner and easier to breathe. Let him play, but keep him away from feather pillows, maybe cats, and do not put flowers in his room. Then see what happens. Remember, there are no guarantees in this life, but a great debt.”

“I owe you,” Lord Cormack was saying, after refilling his own glass after another toast to his heir’s health.

“No, the debt is mine and your son’s.” Ardeth was dictating a list to Genie, who did not understand where all these names and addresses came from, each on a separate sheet of Lorraine’s stationery. Ardeth had been nowhere but up in the boy’s room.

Roger was just as confused, and possibly a bit drunk on champagne and joy. “A debt, you say? Peter is too young to wager,” he said, trying to make a joke.

Cormack would be surprised at how much a life was worth, Ardeth thought, surprised himself that the French Reaper had remembered so much. By the time he was finished reciting from memory, Genie had eight names on eight pieces of paper, with addresses. One name was Cat; one address was Newgate Prison. Oh Lord, her husband had performed a miracle, at the expense of his mind.

Lorraine half echoed her thoughts, the marvel part, not the madness. “Whatever the cost of your wonder-working, we will pay it.”

Ardeth ran his hand through his hair, allowing more dark locks to fall forward. “’Sooth, I performed no miracle. I just tried some practical expediencies.” When Genie not so subtly cleared her throat, he added, “And an ancient art of soothing, from my travels. And Peter will repay his share of the debt by being a good man.”

Roger raised his glass again. “God willing, he will live to see manhood, thanks to you.”

Embarrassed by the praise, Ardeth took the last of the cards from Genie and said, “I must go now, with much to accomplish before morning.”

“All these people,” Genie asked, “we have to find them tonight?” It was already late afternoon.

He ignored her “we” and put the papers in some kind of order. “Yes, they might be gone on their way by daybreak, and who knows where?” He looked at the top address. “Perhaps the river Thames. I will not have another death on my hands.”

Genie could see Roger wondering how much brandy Ardeth had taken upstairs. He was not one to let his own debts go unpaid, however. Whatever Ardeth needed, he would get. “I can help.”

Ardeth looked at the baron, a pleasant, sandy-haired gentleman with flushed cheeks, a man of the earth who was at home in London, but who would be happy to take his son back to his sheep and hogs. “Very well, there is enough to do for both of us.” He reshuffled the squares of paper with Genie’s neat handwriting. “Not the cat. Not the five children—that would be too much excitement for Peter.” He was clearly talking to himself, leaving the others bewildered. “What would a London swell do with a lonely old schoolteacher or a shoemaker’s widow?” He looked at the last two names. “Hmm, the funeral or the jailbreak?”

Lorraine poured herself another glass of wine.

“No, I never get to see the funerals,” he muttered, handing the last sheet to Roger. “Here, you must know someone in authority. Or someone willing to take a bribe. There is a young woman in prison for killing a man. It was in self-defense. Go get her out of jail.”

Lorraine was choking on the drink. “My husband”—cough, cough—“should associate with a murderess? Chance contracting jail fever?”

Her husband came over to hit her on the back, looking no less horrified. “How do you know she is innocent?”

“I did not say she is innocent, only that she had cause. The man was beating her. Your courts are not known for leniency nor understanding, especially when the murderer is a woman, a poor woman, a prostitute.”

“A pros—a pros—” Lorraine could not even say the word. “You want my husband to go bail for a…?”

“Homicidal whore, yes. She will be loaded onto a ship for the penal colonies otherwise, unless she is sent to the prison hulks here in the harbor. Women seldom survive, you know, being used by the convicts and the crew alike.”

Lorraine put her hands over her ears.

Ardeth stood over her, glaring. If her eyes were not closed, she would have fainted at the threat in his. “Lady Cormack, you came to me. I told you I was no doctor, but you trusted me with your son’s welfare. Now you have to trust me again. This Daisy did not kill for the pleasure of it, nor for revenge. She wanted only to save her own life.”