Part 49 (1/2)

”It is like a poem built of flesh, Sir Albert.”

Sir Albert smiled at me. ”You were once a penniless rogue, and because I am, at heart, generous, I offer you to the opportunity to return to that existence.The alternative, such as I have set before you, is a grim one. What say you?”

”You must count your blessings to receive such a proposal,” Hubert offered, helpful fellow that he was. ”I've heard him be less generous with them what he didn't like.You want my opinion, dying and coming back made him a bit sentimental.”

”We all mellow with age, Hubert,” Sir Albert said.

”Very wisely observed, Sir Albert,” said Hubert. ”Time was, I'd have taken a s.h.i.+t on that divan.”

Lying upon the floor of my own house, my head aching, and threatened with violence beyond measure, I was not entirely certain what I could say. I was determined not to let Sir Albert have what he wished. I did not want to lose the book and its power to generate money and comfort. I also did not want to allow its power to fall into the hands of a rogue like Sir Albert, a bad man made worse by my machinations. I cared little if the Stuarts or the Hanoverians ruled the kingdom-the poor would remain poor and the rich would remain rich. I cared little if Whigs and Tories traded places at the table of power, for they were all one to me.What I cared about was not letting Sir Albert win.

”Now, tell me your secret,” said Sir Albert.

”I cannot.”The words tumbled out of me. ”You see, there is a book-a magic book. It is how I learned my method, and only the owner of the book can affect the revival of the dead.”

”A magic book, indeed. That sounds like a lot of hok.u.m to me,” he answered.

”I did raise you from the dead,” I said, trying to sound both reasonable and sincere. ”That also sounds like hok.u.m.”

Sir Albert allowed the point, but it did not cheer him. ”Then give me the book!” he cried.

”I don't have it,” I told him. ”I would be a fool to keep such a thing upon my person.” It was, in fact, in my waistcoat pocket at that very moment, but there was no reason to let him know such a thing.

”Then where is it?” said the increasingly impatient baronet.

”I don't know,” I sputtered. My nose began to run, and tears ran down my cheeks. ”Please don't cut off my hands and feet! I swear to you I don't know!” It was a good performance, if I may be my own critic. The fact that I was, in truth, quite frightened added to the verisimilitude, but I do not want the reader to think I had given way to panic and despair. I always have a plan. Or at least I often do, and this was one of those occasions when I nearly did. I was, in fact, working on a plan, and I was determined that it would be a good one.

Hubert took a step toward me and I raised my hand in protest. My thinking was rapid and erratic, but I believed I could come up with something if no one struck me again for a few moments or p.i.s.sed on any of my furnis.h.i.+ngs. Such things make it so very hard to concentrate. ”Once your return from the beyond became so well circulated a story . . . I feared someone would find me and demand my secrets, but I was determined to protect the book.The only solution was to keep it where even I could not get it. I . . . I gave it to a friend, who was told to give it to a friend, who was told to hide it.” I hoped this many layers of obscurity would dissuade them from seeking out these friends themselves. ”I can get the book, but I need a day. Perhaps two.”

Hubert stepped toward me again and I pressed myself against the wall, feigning more fear than I felt. Growing up with my father had given me a certain indifference to physical pain. I did not care for it, but I knew a few blows about the head would not do me much harm.

”All right! One day, then!” I said, thrusting out my hands defensively. ”I will bring it to you by tomorrow evening.”

”Very well, then. See that you do,” said Sir Albert, sounding a little bit placated.

Hubert punctuated this command by kicking me in the side twice, but as I said, this did not trouble me overmuch.