Away, as far as possible. Running, running. Hiding and fighting. The years ground past until he had met the Trader and begun a new phase of his life, hoping that he had shut all of the past behind him forever.
He knew now that he had not.
BOCHCO BABBLED ON.
“After, there was a fearful inquisition. Poor Kenny Morse was put to death by Harvey Cawdor. So were others of the servants judged to have helped you.”
“I did not know that,” said Ryan quietly.
“The cobblestones of the great yard ran with blood. Harvey was in a fearsome temper.”
“My father?” asked Ryan hesitantly.
“He was told by your brother that not only were you responsible for Morgan’s death, but that you’d bribed the sec men to murder him. The baron named you wolf’s-head with a lot of jack on your head.”
“I heard that.”
“Guess you didn’t hear ’bout the new Lady Cawdor.”
“What?”
Again the crazed giggle from the old-timer called Pecker. “Yeah. Your father wed the whore, but it was Harvey that did the pleasuring. Only eighteen she was. Plump as a corn-fed chick. Hair like straw. I figured the old man was getting bats loose in the belfry by then, what with all that happened.”
“My father died, I heard, Bochco. Was that the hand of my brother?”
No, no, no, no. That was his wife. Lady Rachel Cawdor. The word about Front Royal was that she bound him with cords of silk. Game of love, she called it. Then she smothered him with a pillow. He was frail by then. It was at Harvey’s word.”
Ryan licked his dry lips. There was a small room, locked at the end of a corridor in the west wing of his memory. Despite everything he’d done, someone had come along and, forced the bolts.
And in a perverse, cathartic way, he was relieved that it was over and the door flung open and the secrets dispersed.
“Go on, Bochco,” he whispered
“He was dead and under the earth, feeding the worms and maggots, all in a day and a night. There was a babe born an’ all.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Boy, Lord Cawdor I’m sorry, sorry, so sorry. Mr. Cawdor. Christened Jabez Pendragon Cawdor.”
“My father’s or?”
The look on the old man’s face was the answer. Harvey had sired the child, on his father’s wife. His mistress.
“Hard to say which was most wicked, her or him. Mebbe they’s twin shoots of the same dark flowering weed.”
“And now?” asked Krysty. “Does Ryan’s brother rule Front Royal? With the woman and his child? Is Harvey the baron?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” babbled the old man, his eyes rolling madly. “The crow shits where the eagle should roost. Will you return, Mr. Cawdor, my lord, and claim what should be yours?”
“Harvey has it. Let him keep it. And let him have the fucking pleasure in it that he deserves,” spat Ryan, turning away from Bochco, blinking as he found Doc Tanner and Lori at his elbow. “I didn’t know you were” he began.
“I beg pardon for dropping at the eaves, Ryan,” said Doc. “The dancing was far too tiring. Lori and I are going to bed.” Seeing Ryan’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Yes. We are going to bed together. I may find dancing a little much now, at my age. But that does not mean I am totally impotent.”
“Sorry, Doc,” muttered Ryan.
“Apology accepted. Krysty.” He gave a half bow.
“Good night, Doc. Good night, Lori. Sleep well.”
“Thanks. And you,” replied the blond girl.
“Doc,” called Ryan, suddenly aware that the dance seemed to be breaking up around them with couples drifting away.
“Yes?”
“Did you hear any of that? About my brother andand this,” he said, fingering the patch over the barren left eye.
Doc smiled, looking startlingly, touchingly youthful. “Of course. But I had known it all along. Good night, my friend.”
“Good night, Doc,” Ryan said.
Chapter Nine
INSIDE THE HEAVY DOOR WAS a thick drape of black velvet. Mephisto eased it to one side, creeping through, allowing it to fall silently into place behind him. He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. A thick yellow candle, made from corpse fat, guttered in one corner of the motel room, filling the air with the pungent odor of ambergris and squill.