Printer's Devil (9780316167826) (27 page)

The clothes the dwarf had dug out for me were an appalling fit; and, after I’d had my bath and gotten dressed, with Nick and
Mr. Spintwice keeping out of the way in the back parlor, I looked like something out of a traveling circus. But I had to make
do with them as I went through to join them for tea and cheese — and at least I was feeling better with all that paste washed
off.

They were being
incredibly
nice to me all of a sudden, all their earlier teasing quite banished.

“How did you two do then?” I asked between mouthfuls, looking around at the piles of books.

“Some of them turned out to be good,” Nick replied.

Chewing, I hitched up my awful pants and crouched in front of the piles of books to look at the spines.
“Crimes of the Last Century,”
I read, “Being a Catalogue of Misdeeds, featuring most unsavory Murders, Poisonings, Robberies and Waylayings.”

“Thought we might keep that one,” Nick said, almost embarrassed.

I picked up another. “
A Booke of Devils
. True Hiftories of Wickednesse and Witch-Craft.” Flicking through its fragile pages, I found lots of engravings of sad-faced
men being pulled apart by grinning creatures with hooves and pitchforks. “Some of these books are ancient,” I said.

“I know. They’re falling to pieces mostly. There are even one or two in Latin,” said Nick.

But my eye had fallen across something else — and it was more interesting than the books. “Just a minute,” I said. “Nick,
have you seen this?” I lifted one of the discarded sheets of newspaper which had been used to wrap the books. “Listen,” I
said, excited.

PRECIOUS LANTERN STOLEN

Indian Jewel removed from
Ship at Dead of Night

Authorities Baffled

The SUN OF CALCUTTA, a gold lantern worth several thousands of pounds, has been reported stolen from the East Indiaman which
bears its name. It had been widely rumored that the ship, lately docked, was bearing items of great value, and the popular
intelligence has now been exploited, as was confirmed today by Capt. George Shakeshere. Customs authorities guarding the ship
all night expressed incredulity at the loss of the
object, which was first found to be missing after a routine search of the ship at dawn. For the East India Company, Mr. Follyfeather
spoke of his astonishment and anger. Few eyewitnesses have come forward but a foreign gentleman in a black cloak, seen in
the vicinity late last night, is urgently sought.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” I said.

“What is it?” asked Spintwice, holding out his hand for the crumpled sheet of paper. Nick and I just stared at one another
while he read it. “I suppose this is the lantern you saw when you went snooping around the ship that time, Mog?” I nodded.
“And there’s your man from Calcutta again,” he added as he read further. “I’m getting rather sick of hearing about him.”

“Follyfeather’s got some nerve,” said Nick, “going on about how shocked he is, when he’s really after it himself.”

I was thinking hard. “I bet this is what they were talking about this morning,” I said. “They were making plans to meet tonight
at the Old Tup. You know where that is? Near the prison. Just around the corner from the man from Calcutta’s hideout. I bet
they’re planning to go round there and look for the lantern.”

“It seems to me,” said Spintwice, “they were asking for trouble leaving a gold lantern on board like that. I mean, you didn’t
have any trouble getting aboard, did you, Mog?”

“No,” I said, “but I nearly didn’t get off again.”

“Still,” said the dwarf, “it sounds almost as though it was
too
easy to steal. As if — someone
wanted
them to take it.”

“You mean, it might have been left there to trap them?” said Nick, grasping for the dwarf’s logic.

“Perhaps. Of course, it could be that the very people who were meant to be guarding it are the ones who’ve taken it.”

“That makes sense,” I said, “that means Follyfeather.”

Nick suddenly said, “I can think of someone else who could get onboard that ship any time of the day or night.” I looked at
him. “My Pa,” he said. “Nobody would challenge him.”

“We’ve got to go to the Old Tup tonight,” I said; “they’re all going to be there. You’ll come with me, won’t you, Nick?”

“Oh dear,” said Spintwice.

“Oh,
Mog
,” sighed Nick.

The Old Tup was a squat, ugly little inn crouching stubbornly between much newer brick houses, having dug its heels in centuries
ago and resisted the demolition men’s sledgehammers ever since. It was notorious. Its regular clientele consisted of thieves
and habitual drunkards, and it seemed a very appropriate spot for Fellman, Flethick and Follyfeather, and their assorted alliterative
crew, to be gathering.

It was even hotter tonight, if possible, than at any point during the last week. The Old Tup was built virtually right on
top of the Fleet, and the stench was so strong tonight that the air almost hummed. The sunset blazed pink behind the city
roofs, and the bricks of the nearby houses had absorbed so much of the sun’s heat today that they were warm to the touch as
we pressed ourselves against them to watch from a convenient corner. “This place is popular tonight,” Nick whispered. “We’re
not the only ones watching it. Word’s got about. Look!”

It took a little while, but as I scanned the street in the gathering darkness, I began to be aware of numerous peeping, dodging
little faces in corners and hideyholes, gathering information about what the criminal world was up to, their eyes shining
in the dark like fireflies. And it was clearer than ever, after the conversation at Fellman’s, that we, too, were being watched.

Slowly, in twos and threes, the villains gathered. They greeted one another in low monosyllables, but they said almost nothing
else as they stood in the shadows, waiting. I recognized Flethick and one of the men I’d seen in his smoking den. Then Follyfeather
turned up, impeccable and confident, with a man I’d never seen before. Finally, a stocky threesome strode into view, led by
Fellman the papermaker. With him was a much larger man, built like a wrestler, whose face was so similar to Fellman’s that
they might have been brothers; and another especially violent-looking character with a stick and a severe limp, and a withered
arm held tight against his side in a short black velvet coat.

They were a very unpleasant-looking crew indeed. I couldn’t help remembering, with a tingle of fear, the words Fellman had
growled while I was hiding at the mill this morning: “Boys and bosuns is easily disposed of.” Almost as soon as the last of
them had arrived, they’d melted into the darkness: but they were off up the street which led to Cramplock’s shop, and to the
strange house next door where I’d found the man from Calcutta’s hideout.

“Come on,” I said, “let’s go round the other way.”

Trying to be as quiet as possible unlocking the heavy front door, I let Nick into Cramplock’s and followed him inside. I was
really frightened now, and I wasn’t entirely sure what we were going to do: but it seemed like we’d come too far to stop now.
With Lash scampering ahead of us, we went up the stairs and into my little room. Nick’s face was solemn in the low lamplight
as I showed him the cupboard with no back, and the bricks which lifted out to reveal the secret crawl hole.

“Are we going in?” he whispered.

“Not if the snake’s in there,” I said.

We stood there for a while, not moving. Eventually Nick said, “Well? Let’s find out!”

I looked at him. “I can’t move, Nick,” I said, “I’m scared.”

Nick tutted, and knelt to feel around in the hole. “This was your idea in the first place,” he said, pushing his head inside.

“Keep your voice down,” I whispered.

“Give me that lamp,” he said, holding out his arm.

Slowly, Nick crawled into the hole. All I could see were his feet disappearing inside.

“Can you see the basket?” I whispered, anxiously. I
was holding onto Lash’s collar, waiting for him to start growling or barking as he sensed the snake’s presence. He sneezed
a couple of times as the dust from the dislodged bricks met his nostrils, but otherwise he didn’t seem bothered. Maybe the
snake wasn’t there.

Nick’s voice was muffled, sounding a terribly long way off. “There’s nothing in here.”

“Can you get out of the trapdoor?”

There was a muffled clatter, and a few moments’ silence. Then Nick came shuffling back out, backward.

“There’s nothing there,” he said, “I mean — nothing. No snake. No trapdoor. Just a big, empty house, all dust.”

What was he talking about?

“Did you hear any voices or anything?”

“Not a whisper,” he said.

I gathered my courage. The snake evidently wasn’t there, and we could take Lash in with us, if he’d come.

“After you,” I said.

Nick went first again, clutching the lamp; but as I crawled through after him, he stopped.

“Go on,” I whispered, trying to push his backside with my head.

“Hang on,” said his muffled voice, sounding irritated. There was a scraping sound as he climbed gingerly out the other side.

“Whoa,” I heard him say softly.

Something was wrong. The trapdoor was missing. The little hidey-hole wasn’t even here. All I could feel was rough, damp bricks
scraping on my knees as I crawled through. Now that Nick was through the hole he wasn’t moving. He was standing, holding up
the lamp, looking around. As I poked my head out, a slow creeping horror spread through me.

Nick spoke first. He was as bewildered as I was.

“This can’t be —“ he began.

I knelt in the rough brick hole, staring dumbly at the scene the lamp was illuminating before us.

Everything was gone. The walls, the floorboards, the trapdoor, the snake basket, the pedestal with its elephant statue. The
stairs. The house was an empty, burnt-out shell. Blackened beams stretched out into the gloom ahead of us. Dust floated thickly
in the yellow lamplight. Nick was standing gingerly on a thick plank which had once supported the floorboards of the rooms
upstairs; now there were great yawning gaps through which we would fall twenty feet to the ground below if he took one false
step. Above us, the ceilings had gone too. Nick lifted the lamp to light up a huge empty roof space, the wooden supports again
apparently charred by fire. Everything was rotten and abandoned, just as it had been when I’d been in here that time years
ago.

“This isn’t what I expected,” Nick was saying.

“I can’t believe my eyes,” I said, my voice trembling.

He handed the lamp back to me and shuffled slowly along the plank, his arms held out to steady himself. What if the beam was
rotten?

“Nick, don’t,” I said.

Halfway across the beam, he stopped, hovering, like an apparition, in midair, in the middle of the giant empty space.

“Come back,” I urged him.

He was agile, but the lamp was tipping him off balance a bit, and he wobbled alarmingly as he stepped back along the plank
toward me.

“I thought you said —“ he began.

“Nick, I can’t understand this. This isn’t how it was. I don’t think this can be the right house.”

“What do you mean, not the right house? Where else could we have ended up, climbing through the cupboard wall?”

“I don’t know,” I said, terrified, “but this isn’t what it was like, Nick. It was properly paneled, with strong new floors,
all polished. Like there was someone really living here. And there was a statue of an elephant with — Nick, it’s all gone!
Like it was never here at all.”

My head was swimming with confusion. Had I dreamt everything the other night? I remembered the details of the house with the
utmost clarity. How could
I have gotten it wrong? Had I been in a completely different house? But there could be no mistake. Hiding from the snake-man
that night, I’d fallen through the same hole in the wall we’d just climbed through.

There was a sudden dry clatter from the back of the house, like a gate banging. In the shock of the last few moments I’d forgotten
about the villains.

“It’s them,” I said, in a panic, grabbing Nick’s sleeve.

“Watch it!” he hissed. “You’ll push me off!”

We listened. There seemed to be no further sounds. They were biding their time, lurking at the back of the house, discussing
their strategy, perhaps.

“But what have they come looking for?” Nick asked in a whisper. “I don’t understand. The house is completely bare.”

“I know,” I said, “everything is gone. But it was here, the other day. I can’t quite believe it, but I think the man from
Calcutta must have just scarpered, and taken everything with him. It’s the only explanation.”

I knew it didn’t make sense. He couldn’t possibly have stripped out all those floorboards, that staircase, those panels, not
to mention the heavy and conspicuous elephant statue, in the two short days since I’d last stood there. So had the house been
burnt up in another fire since then? And, if it had, how could I not have known about it?