JACK OF DIAMONDS

(Chap1-pt3 THE ROAD TO MANDALAY)

iii

The lane was a single rutted track of unpaved road after two weeks of heavy rain. The sun was up, but it was still early enough to remind Artie of just how much he'd rather be curled up in the arms of a beautiful woman who wanted nothing more than to enjoy the day with him. The low rolling hills steamed in the morning sun all the same, a light mist seeming to catch on the trees and hedgerows, the distant farms looking like a smudge in a Turner painting.

Artie looked at Claire seated beside him.

She was pretty enough for him to want to see her naked, he thought, looking out over long fields of green. There were hedgerows everywhere he looked. Still, that's what makes life interesting when you're foxing. He remembered how when he was younger--before the war, before Reggie, before everything fell apart--how he used to go riding with the dawn. There was usually six of them, with four dogs between them--one old and another he thought of as almost rabid--although some mornings there'd be almost a dozen riders, and three more dogs. Someone would blow a horn and cry, "Let slip the dogs of war!" but the dogs would usually wander about the yard until his older brother rounded them up and they set off into the countryside.

Artie wondered if the sons and daughters of the surrounding estates would meet up and ride together as he and his friends had in his youth. With three brothers, the size of the riding parties over the years always varied. But there were always girls. Various sisters from various houses, with brothers and cousins whose only interest were the brothers and sisters and cousins from the other estates.

He looked at Reggie hunched over on the narrow seat, looking almost as if he were asleep, and wondered how long it had been since the man had been with a woman. Artie remembered what Reggie had been like over there; like that time in Paris where the whores welcomed them with open thighs.

Reggie always refrained.

He looked at Claire again.

Artie still didn't mind the idea of seeing her naked, and wondered if she felt the same way. He doubted it; never a good idea to get your hopes up when it came to women. She hadn't shifted away from him though, and he could feel the press of her leg against him. Maybe if he took his shirt off when they unloaded the crates, wherever it was they were going to unload them?

"I'm somewhat curious as to what you're going to do now, Reg. No wait. That's wrong. I want to know what the fuck you think you're going to do now? This will ruin you."

"Something always comes up, Artie," Reggie said, sounding somewhat forlorn.

"And you think that, do you? I mean, seriously? Even with all of this?" he said, pointing at the boxes and crates in the back of the cart.

"As long as we have food, we'll manage. Claire can cook."

"That's what I do," she said, looking ahead with a dead-pan expression.

"I know," Artie smiled. "Remember?"

"Just in case you weren't paying attention...like you were just then," she quipped.

"When?"

"When you weren't paying attention."

"And just what was I supposed to be paying attention to?"

"How he said something always comes up," she reminded him.

"Is that supposed to mean something? What are you going to do with all this?"

"Well, we were thinkin', me and Claire, that if she were to cook her pies, I could deliver them about."

"They'd never let you do that."

"Why do you have to say it like that?" Reggie asked.

"Because I know they won't. No manor cook is going to buy the wares off another cook and feed it to the household."

"You think I don't know that? I'm a cook, remember?"

"You can't sell it to the staff, either."

"I know that, too."

"So? Who's left?"

"The farmsteads and villagers here about. Claire's a good cook. She can make meat and veggie pies, and I can sell them. If we do it right," Reggie said.

"And you know the right way?"

He nodded.

"Why do I get the feeling there's a big but hanging there somewhere?"

"But we need money."

"We?" he asked, looking at Claire, who nodded. "Is that why you invited me herer? To borrow money?"

"You're the only man I know who has money, or, if he doesn't have it, knows how to get it. By hook or by crook, if I remember," he added.

"I don't have a pound to my name."

"Which is why I came to you."

"I don't understand."

"Anyone else would've said they didn't have a penny to his name. But not you; not Artemis Spencer. No. You say you don't got a pound to spare."

"What are you getting on about?"

"You know these people, Artie. These people are your people. You understand them. You grew up with them--at least, you say you did. You know value when you see it."

"Are you going to get to the point?"

"It's not like you haven't done it before."

"Done what?"

"I saw what you did--but more than that, how you did it--that night in Paris. I don't know what you stole, but I know you stole something. I saw you climb up the outside wall and go in through the window. It was at least three stories up," he said, turning to look at Claire. "He climbed up the side of the building like he was climbing a ladder. He was jumping from balcony to balcony like a circus acrobat, hanging on to gutters, and ledges--hanging on by his fingernails at times."

Claire turned to look at him, and Artie tried to force a smile.

"He's not lieing, is he? I mean, it's true, isn't it?"

Artie sat silent.

"Have you ever heard of Cromwall's Skull?" she asked.

"You mean the real Cromwell?"

“I’d asked you if you’d ever heard of it? Not if he was real.”

“Not the skull. But I know who Cromwell was. I’ve never heard of this skull though; I mean, what do you know about it that I don’t?’

“That it's coming to Marlborough Manor.”

“How do you know that?"

“You hear all sorts of stories when you work in a house like Mandalay. People are always talking in front of the servants. All the time. But that's because no one ever thinks the servants are listening. But the servants are always talking among themselves, as well. So, you hear things.”

“And what, exactly, did you hear?”

“That they’re bringing Cromwell’s Skull out to Marlborough Manor—to start off the Solstice Season.”

“And when’s that?”

“It marks the start of the Festive Season, coinciding with the Hunter’s Moon. There’s a Fair in Chumley Grove that starts it all off. Then, the six Manor houses host six fancy dress Balls. The first one’s always a Costume Ball. It moves from year to year. That’s when they hide Cromwell’s Skull, somewhere in the house, and whoever finds it, keeps the contents of the skull.”

“And what are the contents of the skull?”

“Sovereigns. Gold sovereigns.

“Well, that puts a new spin on things, don’t it Artie?” Reggie smiled.

“And you want me to steal it?” he asked Claire.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I never said that.”

“Then Reggie wants me to steal it?”

“I never said that, either.”

“Then what do you want me to steal?”

“The people living in these Houses are either titled, or monied. They have jewels. They have cash. They have safes.”

“Safes?”

“Yes."

“And how am I supposed to get in when there’s a dinner party going on?”

“I told you, the Costume Ball will be at Marlborough this year. So the other houses will be empty. The servants take the night off. Sure, some are still there, but most of them live in the village, or have family there, so they’re off for the night. I’m sure you noticed the open window upstairs? At Mandalay? It’s been open for seven years. It doesn’t close.”

“So?"

“There are eighty rooms in Mandalay Manor. Every one of those rooms is a treasure trove. They never close that window. They think: ‘Who’s going to crawl through a window that high up?’ It’s at least fifty feet high.”

“And this is in Mandalay? Marlborough? Which one?”

“Mandalay.”

“What if I go to Marlborough instead, and find the skull?”

“You’ll never find it.”

“I will if you go in there and find it for me.”

“How do you expect me to do that?”

“Like you said, no one ever expects the servants to talk, but they always do. How long do you think it will take for word to get out that you've left your employer? It's been my experience, that with a party that size, they're always looking for extra help. You could offer your services as a cook?Someone will know where the skull's hidden. All you have to do is listen.”

"And if Greggson says no?"

"He the cook at Marlborough?"

"He is."

"You let me talk to him. He'll be more than happy to have your help."