“I do,” said Alice.
But Mrs. Harrogate only folded her skirts and sat in one of the chairs and held her handbag upright on her lap and after a long sullen moment Alice sat too. She kept her Colt Peacemaker sidelong on her thigh, its barrel pointing darkly toward Jacob Marber’s heart.
Jacob Marber had squinched his eyes shut, darkness leaking from their corners. “You are surprised to see me so unwell, Margaret. You imagine it is because of the child. What happened on the train. But you are wrong.”
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Harrogate. “Perhaps.”
“My body weakens because I grow stronger.”
Mrs. Harrogate said nothing for a long moment. Then she replied, “You are weak in body because of the drughr. And you are weak in spirit because of the drughr. In the end it will consume you, as it consumes everything. That is its nature. You just do not see it.”
Something flickered across Jacob’s face, was gone.
“I am not doing this for me,” he said calmly.
“Of course not. You are doing it for the drughr,” replied Mrs. Harrogate. “For the drughr, and only for the drughr. You just do not realize it. You have been useful for a time, but that usefulness will end. What will happen to you, I wonder, once your master gets its hands on the child?”
“She is not my master.”
“Oh, Jacob.” And there was such pity in Mrs. Harrogate’s voice that Alice turned her face and looked at her.
And she saw then, slowly, materializing out of the shadows, pale as smoke, the white form of Frank Coulton. He stood at the tunnel opening, long clawlike fingers at his sides.
Jacob Marber’s voice was soft. “Where are the weir-bents, Margaret?”
Alice, surprised, looked back.
“The weir-bents,” said Mrs. Harrogate slowly.
She seemed to be considering what to say next and Alice thought she would plead ignorance but she did not.
“The weir-bents can be of no use to you, Jacob. Even if I had them. Which I do not. The child is protected by a glyphic.”
“Ah. But that cannot last forever.” Marber ran a slow hand over his face, tired. A fine black soot smoked up off him as he did so. “The glyphic is weak. Berghast has been using it for too long, draining it. You do know what it is he desires? Why he is doing all … this?” Marber gestured with a hand, as if their being in this chamber was Berghast’s doing. He lowered his voice. “Our good Mr. Coulton has already called on Mr. Fang. Therefore I know the weir-bents were in the possession of that nursemaid. I know you escorted her here to London and hid her away, even from Berghast. I know many things, Margaret, but most of all, I know you. What other object could you have acquired that would make you believe you could confront me?” He gave her a small unhappy smile. “And yet, even still … why would you risk it? That is what I do not understand.”
Mrs. Harrogate folded her arms, the long black knives glinting incongruously from under her elbows. “You flatter yourself,” she said. “We are not in London for you.”
But Marber continued on in his soft flat voice, his mind turning over itself like water. “I do not understand why Berghast would permit you to rush headlong into this. Unless time were of the essence.…”
“I come in vengeance, Jacob,” Mrs. Harrogate said, as if to settle the matter.
But he was unimpressed. “I think not. I think I am better disposed of now than later. Why?” He turned his intense black gaze on Mrs. Harrogate. Alice could feel the menace like a thrumming in her skin. Slowly, his eyes lit up. “Oh,” he murmured. “Surely not? Surely not … that?”
“Surely not what?” said Mrs. Harrogate, almost despite herself.
Marber gave Alice a superior look, as if it were a game, and he had solved a riddle. Then he turned back to Mrs. Harrogate. “It is because the glyphic is finally dying, isn’t it? Soon Cairndale will be defenseless. The orsine will rip itself open. There’ll be no closing it again.”
“You’re mad,” whispered Mrs. Harrogate.
Marber leaned forward. “Absolutely,” he whispered back.
But Alice could see it too, writ plain in the older woman’s face, the same thing Marber had seen: he was not wrong. Alice didn’t know what it meant, the dying glyphic, not really, but the intensity of it was clear. It was as if Mrs. Harrogate were just realizing it also, just putting it together in her mind, what Berghast had kept from her. She looked devastated.
Alice scanned the chamber. There was only the one way in; they were deep underground; Coulton was blocking their exit. The pain in her ribs flared as if in response to her fear. Suddenly it all made sense.