Part 50 (1/2)

A quarter hour later, I stood in the distance, watching neighbors and volunteers pour water upon my house. I'd had the good sense to keep the book on my person, and so it was never in more danger than was I, but I had little more reason to rejoice. My house was in ruins, a charred sh.e.l.l. No doubt Sir Albert knew where I had stored my money, and he would have effected plans to make it impossible I should retrieve it. I was now backed into a corner, and if I were to survive this ordeal intact, I would have no choice but to deliver owners.h.i.+p of the book to Sir Albert. I would have to set aside my need to win, my desire for revenge, and capitulate.As Sir Albert had observed, I had been a penniless rogue before, and no doubt I could be one again. Indeed, I could see myself, in my mind's eye, only a few days or weeks hence, riding upon a mail carriage to some nameless inn, paying forth my last few coins for a room and a chance to swindle or cheat or trick or bed some stranger out of his or her small purse.

”No,” I said aloud. I would not do it. I would not surrender. I would be maimed and defeated before I would hand him that victory, but how I would thwart him, I could not say. If I could not simply enter Kensington Palace, I would need to find a sponsor.A visit to the House of Lords, perhaps, might be the first step to gaining an audience with a sympathetic and connected Tory. It was a wise course but a slow one. It would no doubt take days, at the very least, to find and convince the right person to introduce me to the queen. I only had hours, and I could not think how best to use them.

As I stood there, considering my options, a boy approached me, letter in hand. ”Is you January?” he asked.

”I is,” I a.s.sured him, s.n.a.t.c.hing the letter out of his hand.

It was from Sir Albert. He wrote in threatening and somewhat colorful language, but his point was succinct. He had taken the precaution of having me watched, and so he knew about my abortive venture to Kensington. And now, for my perfidy, there would be consequences. My house, I already knew, was destroyed, but that was not the whole of my punishment. Lady Caroline was dead. He had, in response to my double dealing, taken her life, strangled her while she struggled beneath his grip in wide-eyed terror. However, as I was the necromancer, there was no need that her death should be a permanent condition. If I were to bring him the means of revival, he would allow me to return her to life before relieving me of my abilities.

I stared at the words on the page, illuminated by the light of my burning house, and I felt rage and sorrow and pathetic selfpity. I had been lazy and sloppy. I had treated my power lightly and not considered its consequences. I had been content with a life of leisure while, all around me, my enemies had planned and concocted stratagems. I was, in short, outmatched and out of time. I could not preserve my wealth, my power, and the woman I loved without having a stratagem of my own. I could not repay Sir Albert for his crimes unless I possessed the means to defeat him. I therefore turned my back on my ruined house and set off into the night. It was time I showed Sir Albert that I was not a man with whom to trifle. I had wrought these terrible things. Lady Caroline was dead because of me, and I swore then and there that I would make things right. I would do anything to revive her and punish Sir Albert.

Several hours later, spade in hand and covered with sweat in the cold night air, I stood over the open grave and performed the ritual. I held my breath, regretting my decision even while I understood that I had no choice. And then I watched while he sat up and looked about, confused.

”Was I dead?” he asked.

I nodded.

”And I ain't no more.”

I shook my head.

”You done it?”

I nodded again.

With closed fist, my father struck me in the face, knocking me against the freshly dug earth of the grave from which I had rescued him.

My father remained sitting in his coffin, like a man roused from a refres.h.i.+ng nap. His clothes were in reasonably good shape, for he had not been in the ground overlong, and he was not excessively dirty. In point of fact, his odor was less offensive than on any occasion I could recall. His face had been restored, and the damage I'd done with the mason's hammer was but a memory. He was back, only, like Sir Albert, more powerful and potent than ever.

”Don't go thinking you're Jesus Christ,” he said. ”I'm sure if you done it, a monkey could do it.” He pushed himself to his feet and began to bend and unbend his elbow. ”It ain't felt so good in years. Now, to celebrate my return to life, I aim to get myself good and drunk. Then I want a wh.o.r.e. And then we'll deal with your problem.”

I rubbed my jaw, which hurt, but nothing was broken and no teeth had been dislodged. I suppose such a blow might serve as the equivalent of a hug or a handshake for a normal man. ”How could you know I had a problem? Have you been observing my activities from the next world?”

”I don't recall nothing of the next world, but if I'd had the ability to watch this one, I wouldn't have wasted my time by looking at you. I know you have a problem, and I know it's a big one, because otherwise you'd have left me in the ground.Whatever you're up against, it has to be mighty scary for you to recruit your old pa to your side.”

That was true enough.

”Now,” he said, ”let's get going. Drinks and wh.o.r.es.”