Neverwhere(66)

“And marquis of Westmorland.” Mr. Vandemar looked rather pleased with himself.

Mr. Croup sniffed. “What’s to stop us hacking you into as many pieces as we hacked the marquis of Westmorland?” he asked.

De Carabas took his other hand out of his pocket. It held a small hammer. He tossed the hammer in the air and caught it by the handle, ending with the hammer poised over the china figurine. “Oh, please,” he said. “No more silly threats. I think I’d feel better if you were both standing back over there.”

Mr. Vandemar shot a look at Mr. Croup, who nodded, almost imperceptibly. There was a tremble in the air, and Mr. Vandemar was standing beside Mr. Croup, who smiled like a skull. “I have indeed been known to purchase the occasional T’ang piece,” he admitted. “Is that for sale?”

“We don’t go in so much for buying and selling here in the Underside, Mister Croup. Barter. Exchange. That’s what we look for. But yes, indeed, this desirable little piece is certainly up for grabs.”

Mr. Croup pursed his lips. He folded his arms. He unfolded them. He ran one hand through his greasy hair. Then, “Name your price,” said Mr. Croup. The marquis let himself breathe a deep, relieved, and almost audible sigh. It was possible that he was going to be able to pull this whole grandiose ruse off, after all. “First, three answers to three questions,” he said.

Croup nodded. “Each way. We get three answers too.”

“Fair enough,” said the marquis. “Secondly, I get safe conduct out of here. And you agree to give me at least an hour’s head start.”

Croup nodded violently. “Agreed. Ask your first question.” His gaze was fixed on the statue.

“First question. Who are you working for?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one,” said Mr. Croup. “That’s a simple answer. We are working for our employer, who wishes to remain nameless.”

“Hmph. Why did you kill Door’s family?”

“Orders from our employer,” said Mr. Croup, his smile becoming more foxy by the moment.

“Why didn’t you kill Door, when you had a chance?”

Before Mr. Croup could answer, Mr. Vandemar said, “Got to keep her alive. She’s the only one that can open the door.”

Mr. Croup glared up at his associate. “That’s it,” he said. “Tell him everything, why don’t you?”

“I wanted a turn,” muttered Mr. Vandemar.

“Right,” said Mr. Croup. “So you’ve got three answers, for all the good that will do you. My first question: why are you protecting her?”

“Her father saved my life,” said the marquis, honestly. “I never paid off my debt to him. I prefer debts to be in my favor.”

“I’ve got a question,” said Mr. Vandemar.

“As have I, Mr. Vandemar. The Upworlder, Richard Mayhew. Why is he traveling with her? Why does she permit it?”

“Sentimentality on her part,” said the marquis de Carabas. He wondered, as he said it, if that was the whole truth. He had begun to wonder whether there might, perhaps, be more to the upworlder than met the eye.

“Now me,” said Mr. Vandemar. “What number am I thinking of?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What number am I thinking of?” repeated Mr. Vandemar. “It’s between one and a lot,” he added, helpfully.

“Seven,” said the marquis. Mr. Vandemar nodded, impressed. Mr. Croup began, “Where is the—” but the marquis shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he said. “Now we’re getting greedy.”

There was a moment of utter silence, in that dank cellar. Then once more water dripped, and maggots rustled; and the marquis said, “An hour’s head start, remember.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Croup. The marquis de Carabas tossed the figurine to Mr. Croup, who caught it eagerly, like an addict catching a plastic baggie filled with white powder of dubious legality. And then, without a backward glance, the marquis left the cellar.

Mr. Croup examined the figurine minutely, turning it over and over in his hands, a Dickensian curator of the Museum of the Damned contemplating a prize exhibit. His tongue flicked out, from time to time, like a snake’s. A perceptible flush appeared on his pallid cheeks. “Oh, fine, fine’,” he whispered. “T’ang dynasty indeed. Twelve hundred years old, the finest pottery figurines ever made on this earth. This was created by Kai Lung, finest of potters: there is not a twin to it in existence. Examine the color of the glaze; the sense of proportion; the life . . . ” He was smiling now, like a baby; the innocent smile looked lost and confused on the shady terrain of Mr. Croup’s face. “It adds a little wonder and beauty to the world.”