And I saw no reason not to, especially when he produced a hat and a cape from within the depths of the carriage.
When we pulled up at the house some moments later it didn’t look at all as I had imagined it. No, it was far, far worse. As though a giant God-like fist had pounded into it from above, smashing through the roof and the floors beneath, gouging a huge, ragged hole into the house. It wasn’t so much a house now as a ravaged representation of one.
Through broken windows we could see into the entrance hall and up—through smashed floors to the hallway three flights up, all of them blackened with soot. I could see furniture that I recognized, blackened and charred, burnt portraits hanging lopsided on the walls.
“I’m sorry—it really is too dangerous to go inside, Master Haytham,” said Mr. Birch.
After a moment he led me back into the carriage, tapped the ceiling twice with his cane, and we pulled away.
“However,” said Mr. Birch, “I took the liberty of retrieving your sword yesterday,” and reaching beneath his seat he produced the box. It, too, was dusty with soot, but when he pulled it to his lap and opened the lid, the sword lay inside, as gleaming as it had been the day Father gave it to me.
“Thank you, Mr. Birch” was all I could say, as he closed the box and placed it on the seat between us.
“It’s a handsome sword, Haytham. I’ve no doubt you’ll treasure it.”
“I will, sir.”
“And when, I wonder, will it first taste blood?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
There was a pause. Mr. Birch clasped his cane between his knees.
“The night of the attack, you killed a man,” he said, turning his head to look out of the window. We passed houses that were only just visible, floating through a haze of smoke and freezing air. It was still early. The streets were quiet. “How did that feel, Haytham?”
“I was protecting Mother,” I said.
“That was the only possible option, Haytham,” he agreed, nodding, “and you did the right thing. Don’t for a moment think otherwise. But its being the only option doesn’t change the fact that it’s no small matter to kill a man. For anybody. Not for your father. Not for me. But especially not for a boy of such tender years.”
“I felt no sadness at what I did. I just acted.”
“And have you thought about it since?”
“No, sir. I’ve thought only of Father, and Mother.”
“And Jenny . . . ?” said Mr. Birch.
“Oh. Yes, sir.”
There was a pause, and when he next spoke his voice was flat and solemn. “We need to find her, Haytham,” he said.
I kept quiet.
“I intend to leave for Europe, where we believe she is being held.”
“How do you know she is in Europe, sir?”
“Haytham, I am a member of an influential and important organization. A kind of club, or society. One of the many advantages to membership is that we have eyes and ears everywhere.”
“What is it called, sir?” I asked.
“The Templars, Master Haytham. I am a Templar Knight.”
“A knight?” I said, looking at him sharply.
He gave a short laugh. “Perhaps not exactly the kind of knight you’re thinking of, Haytham, a relic of the Middle Ages, but our ideals remain the same. Just as our forebears set out to spread peace across the Holy Land centuries ago, so we are the unseen power that helps to maintain peace and order in our time.” He waved his hand at the window, where the streets were busier now. “All of this, Haytham, it requires structure and discipline, and structure and discipline require an example to follow. The Knights Templar are that example.”
My head span. “And where do you meet? What do you do? Do you have armour?”
“Later, Haytham. Later, I’ll tell you more.”
“Was Father a member, though? Was he a Knight?” My heart leapt. “Was he training me to become one?”
“No, Master Haytham, he was not, and I’m afraid that as far as I’m aware he was merely training you in swordsmanship in order that . . . well, the fact that your mother lives proves the worth of your lessons. No, my relationship with your father was not built on my membership of the Order. I’m pleased to say that I was employed by him for my skill at property management rather than any hidden connections. Nevertheless, he knew that I was a Knight. After all, the Templars have powerful and wealthy connections, and these could sometimes be of use in our business. Your father may not have been a member, but he was shrewd enough to see the worth of the connections: a friendly word, the passing on of useful information”—he took a deep breath—“one of which was the warning about the attack at Queen Anne’s Square. I told him, of course. I asked him why it might be that he had been targeted, but he scoffed at the very idea—disingenuously, perhaps. We clashed over it, Haytham. Voices were raised, but I only wish now I’d been even more insistent.”
“Was that the argument I heard?” I asked.
He looked sideways at me. “So you did hear, did you? Not eavesdropping, I hope?”
The tone in his voice made me more than thankful I hadn’t been. “No, Mr. Birch, sir, I heard raised voices, and that was all.”
He looked hard at me. Satisfied I was telling the truth, he faced forward. “Your father was as stubborn as he was inscrutable.”
“But he didn’t ignore the warning, sir. He employed the soldiers, after all.”
Mr. Birch sighed. “Your father didn’t take the threat seriously, and would have done nothing. When he wouldn’t listen to me, I took the step of informing your mother. It was at her insistence that he employed the soldiers. I wish now I had substituted the men for men taken from our ranks. They would not have been so easily overwhelmed. All I can do now is try to find his daughter for him and punish those responsible. To do that I need to know why—what was the purpose of the attack? Tell me, what do you know of him before he settled in London, Master Haytham?”
“Nothing, sir,” I replied.
He gave a dry chuckle. “Well, that makes two of us. More than two of us, in fact. Your mother knows next to nothing also.”
“And Jenny, sir?”
“Ah, the equally inscrutable Jenny. As frustrating as she was beautiful, as inscrutable as she was adorable.”
“‘Was,’ sir?”
“A turn of phrase, Master Haytham—I hope with all my heart at least. I remain hopeful that Jenny is safe in the hands of her captors, of use to them only if she is alive.”