The Edinburgh Dead - Brian Ruckley [105]
“Oh, don’t you worry about me.”
The music started up, snaking out from the dais, through the open doors, rolling around Ruthven and Quire. A waltz, Quire thought.
“No,” Ruthven was saying. “I don’t intend to worry about you, I can assure you of that. I’ll be leaving the question of what to do with you entirely to others now.”
“That wouldn’t be your Mr. Blegg you’re talking about, would it?” Quire smiled. “I’ve formed the impression he maybe does a fair bit of your dirty work for you.”
“Believe me, you have no idea. None at all.”
“Well, I’ll look forward to my education, then.”
“I doubt that. Blegg tells me you have been sneaking about on my farm, and at a certain hovel in the Old Town.”
Quire said nothing, but he felt the tremor of confession in his own face.
“I see it’s true. How enterprising of you. Evidently I have misjudged you from the very beginning of our unfortunate acquaintance.”
Still Quire said nothing, hoping that Dunbar would have the sense to keep Durand out of sight. Ruthven pursed his lips.
“Look at you,” he said. “Not even on police pay any more, and still you’re nipping at my heels. Why don’t you just go home, Mr. Quire? Alone.”
“The difficulty I have with that is I’m thinking I’ll not be long above ground, now you know I’m still paying you some attention. Am I right?”
Ruthven smiled thinly.
“Do you know,” he said, “I think you might be. There, now: we all know where we stand. What have you done with Durand, by the way? I don’t see him.”
Ruthven peered over Quire’s shoulder, eyes narrow and questioning.
“I’ve not seen him, so I couldn’t say,” Quire said.
“Oh. I really did think I was paying sufficient attention to his whereabouts, but once again you have managed to surprise me. What a pity the police decided to dispense with the services of such a resourceful fellow.”
Ruthven sniffed in dry amusement at his own barbed humour. He glanced around, taking in the traffic of gaudily dressed celebrants, like a parade of exotic birds.
“There’s been about two things in my life I was any good at,” Quire said levelly. “Soldiering and policing. Maybe I can’t help but be one or the other of those, paid or not. I’m ready to try the policing line, if you are. Are you going to come along to a judge with me and tell him all that you’ve done?”
Ruthven smiled, almost pityingly.
“No, Mr. Quire, I am not.”
“No. You’re not. Then maybe it’s the soldiering line for me after all.”
“I see. I see. You know, I think you have the advantage over me, for there is only really one thing I have ever been good at. I have attempted a number of roles in my life, but the truth is I found no great success in any of them: farmer, merchant, investor. Husband. I was not suited to any of them.
“But, do you know, I have done things in the last few years that men will one day wonder at. I have tapped into the well at the very root of life, and made the vital forces flow at my command.”
“And how many deaths have been caused by your miracle-working?”
“I do not suppose you could be expected to understand,” Ruthven said, almost sadly. “There is a price to be paid for revelation, Mr. Quire. For revolution. Knowledge is not always paid for solely by the sweat of the brow. A hundred years from now, the knowledge, the wonders will persist. The price paid for them will be forgotten. Forgiven.”
“You buy it with blood, I say it’s not worth the having.”
“You’re wrong. I can say nothing more than that. Well, I must return to my wife. There will be talk, you know, if I seem to be neglecting her.”
He slipped the turban back on to his head, and with a last lingering look down the length of the lobby towards the doors out on to the street, he turned back and sank into the costumed host of his kind.
Quire blew out a long breath and went slowly towards the cloakroom, casting many a backward glance to ensure Ruthven did not reappear. He found Dunbar and Durand in a secluded corner, just inside the main entrance, and dropped his now useless mask to the floor there. Durand had been stripped of his distinctive