The House Of Smoke (17 page)

‘But why? For what purpose, sir?’

‘For the brotherhood, an organisation that has existed for many generations.’ He paused then added, ‘I know you have seen its symbol, the tattoo on Mr Brannigan’s not inconsiderable bicep, and have asked about it, so let me illuminate you. The name of the brotherhood is the Trinity, hence the triangle. Those swearing allegiance are bound in blood to shed blood. Not only their
own
, if the cause necessitates, but primarily, that of my enemies. In short, they are sworn to kill, Simeon, to take the lives of other people.’

‘What kind of people, sir?’

‘Evil people. Truly evil people. The kind that would endanger you, me and all those we hold dear. People who deserve to roast in the fires of hell.’

His face told me he believed what he said. That despite the probability that every murder committed in his name grew his empire, he saw the killing as justified.

‘Mr Brannigan,’ he continued, ‘Mr Gunn and Miss Breed are killers.
Assassins
. Highly trained murderers who do my bidding. They are my power of three. My Trinity.’

The enormity of his statement rendered me silent. Of Brannigan, I could believe it. But not Gunn – he looked far too much like a pixie. And until the early hours of this morning, not Surrey.

The professor sensed my doubt. ‘There’s more to murder than brawn or savagery,’ he pointed out. ‘Take Miss Breed. She is a true virago. Her bravery is unbounded. Her slightness of size and flatness of form allows her to convincingly act as either a boy or girl. Urchin, housemaid, barrow boy or courtesan, she can play any part with distinction. Her litheness allows her to slip through spaces that butterflies would become lodged in. And once she is where she wishes to be, then she strikes, like a crack of lightning.’

Again, I pictured Surrey in the half-light of the kitchen, hands shaking, fighting to gain her composure. I had seen her spirit broken, and then I had witnessed her determination to become whole again. ‘You mentioned yesterday that she was dealing with a Chinese ‘problem’. Did she …’

‘Did she what?’ His eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘Resolve it? Yes, she most certainly did.’ He poured himself more coffee. ‘Usually, Miss Breed favours poison. In drinks such as this.’ He lifted his cup and smiled. ‘Sometimes she is more physical. A hatpin, through the heart or throat. Occasionally a blade, though I have to say this is not her forte; she tends to be somewhat untidy when it comes to the shedding of blood.’

‘And Mr Gunn?’ I asked. ‘What is
his
expertise?’

‘Treachery,’ he answered, proudly. ‘Sirius has a consummate charm that wins the admiration of men and a handsome look that hobbles even the most intelligent of women. Once he pays his victim the attention they crave, then they are his. From that moment forth, it is only a matter of him timing his great betrayal and seizing the moment in which to despatch them.’

Moriarty took out a small silver snuff box, laid a pinch on the back of his hand and took it before continuing, ‘Mr Brannigan is the longest-serving and final member of my Trinity. He kills quickly, unquestioningly and without remorse.’ The box was closed and he returned it to his jacket pocket. ‘Recently, he had to despatch an eleven-year-old boy. Not for one second did this trouble him.’

‘A
child?
’ I regretted saying the word aloud, but my conscience back then was not as corrupted as it is now.

‘Yes, a child, Simeon. Evil is not confined to maturity – you of all people must know that. Pre-pubescent assassins are plentiful among the ranks of street Arabs that populate both London and New York. And there are moments when these deadly delinquents need disposing of, just as much as evil adults do. Just as much as evil
women
do.’ He paused briefly to take stock of my reactions, then added, ‘Whether at home or abroad, I run my enterprises in ways that do not require anyone to be murdered, but sometimes those I deal with force my hand. Or to be more precise, the hands of those in my service.’

‘And Mr Brannigan, I suppose his hands contain an expertise for …’ I struggled to find a delicate way of expressing it, ‘for strangling?’

‘Yes, you are correct. As he has no doubt taught you, he is particularly adept at creating ligatures from whatever environment he finds himself in. His favourites include silk belts from ladies’ gowns or piano wire plucked straight from the ribs of a grand or baby in a fine gentleman’s home. Out in the wilds of the country, he once despatched a fellow with a garrotte fashioned from his own bootlaces and some oak twigs. Michael is most inventive.’

‘And
they
are the three members of your “Trinity”?’ I asked. ‘Sirius, Surrey and Brannigan.’

‘Yes, they are.’

‘And am I to be some form of assistant? An errand boy to fetch and carry for them?’ I thought once more of Surrey in the kitchen. ‘To wipe up after them, to clean their bloodied hands and garments?’

‘You have not been brought here to provide such meagre service.’ He paused for a moment then added more solemnly, ‘Unfortunately, Mr Brannigan has a terminal growth on his lungs. One that the best doctors in Harley Street say is inoperable.’

I was shocked. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea …’

‘How could you have known? You are not a medical man, are you?’

‘No sir, you know that I am not.’

‘If you had been, then you would have been aware that an insidious parasite is relentlessly devouring parts of his inner self and causing him immense pain.’

‘Poor man.’

‘Poor man, indeed. But do not let him hear you say such a thing, or you will be the one needing pity. Pity and a basket of bandages.’

I shared a smile with him.

‘The growth will kill him shortly,’ continued Moriarty. ‘We do not know if that tragedy will play out within days, weeks or months. But play out it will.’

‘And then there will be two,’ I said, recalling the brutality of my terrible fight with Brannigan and the agony he must have secretly endured.

‘No, Simeon, by then there will be three.
You
will be the third. That is the purpose of all this training and testing. It is to ready you for the moment when you will fill the void left by Michael.’

The enormity of what he was saying began to sink in. I was being trained to kill at Moriarty’s bidding, to earn my way in life by ending the lives of others.

‘I don’t think that is something I will be able to do, sir.’

‘Not now. But in time you will learn. You have the anger to kill. It is in your blood. I see it flare up in your eyes. Michael says rage is rooted deep in your soul. When we have added brains and subtlety to your savagery, then you will be ready.’

‘And what, sir, if I don’t want to be ready?’

‘That is not an option, Simeon—’

‘Sir—’

‘Do not interrupt me! You have killed already. Taken the life of a good and honest person, by all accounts.’

I hung my head in shame.

‘The die is cast. You are what you are. Only instead of being stretched on some gallows, you will be educated. I will protect you and reward you with money and luxuries that a runaway urchin could never have imagined.’

Still my conscience prevailed. ‘But, sir, what if I am unable to do what you ask of me?’

‘You will be able.’ Moriarty rose from his seat. ‘And if you are not, then as you say, there will be only two.’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

His stare hardened. ‘You clearly need me to be blunt. So I will oblige. You will be killed, Simeon. You know too much to walk away from here as a free man. A grave will be dug, your life will be taken, and you will fill it.’ A thin smile ended his sentence. ‘Do you have any other questions?’

Winter thawed into a new spring and with it melted much of the ice wall that Elizabeth had constructed between us. I suppose my educational and cultural improvement made her warm to me.

Paradoxically, as my feelings and optimism grew, Brannigan’s strength and general health ebbed away. By the time the cherry blossoms flowered, the hacking cough that he had initially dismissed so lightly rendered him permanently bedbound.

Every morning, I made time to sit with him and stayed for the same duration we used to devote to training, sparring, and more latterly sharing stories. He would tell me of his journeys with the professor to America – to Boston, New York and New England. He enjoyed talking about their funny ways and accents. ‘I’d been sent to teach this crooked businessman a lesson,’ he told me. ‘The fella was a proper Charlie from Harvard who’d messed up some investments. When I said the professor wanted things put right he told me ‘Go fry an egg!’ Can you believe that?
Go fry an egg!
’ Michael laughed so hard it caused him to cough.

I smiled. ‘What did you do to him?’

‘I’ll tell you what I did. I fried him. I heated the stove in his shitty room and cooked his hand. I said that unless he made good on the money he owed then I’d come back and boil his head.’

‘And he did?’

‘Within two days. He paid in full and with interest. The professor loves the Yanks but I can’t stand them.’

I plumped up his pillow. ‘You need to rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘And you need to train harder. You’re going weak in the arms and stomach. Just because I’m not able to crack the whip, doesn’t mean you can grow soft.’

‘I am not
soft
. I train daily.’

‘When? When do you do this?’

‘Right after I’ve seen you. I go through all the drills you gave me. I do them as though you are watching over my shoulder.’

He seemed pleased. ‘Good. But don’t cheat, Simeon. Cheat in training and you cheat yourself.’

‘I know. I’ve been taught by the best.’ I patted his arm.

‘That you have.’ He coughed painfully. I passed him a bowl and he retched more of the dark matter that was killing him, then he lay back and looked exhausted.

‘Would you like me to get you some water before I go?’

‘No. Any more water and I’ll bleedin’ drown. I want whisky.’

‘You know I can’t give you that. Doctor’s orders.’

‘Fuck the doctor. I am dying, aren’t I? Not having whisky isn’t going to cure me.’

‘I’m still not getting you any.’

‘Bastard.’

‘You are a bigger bastard. Bigger and uglier.’ I raised a pretend fist.

He rasped out a laugh. Gripped my arm. ‘Be useful then, before you go running after the few skirts that work around here; distract me with a story.’

‘About what?’

‘Anything. Just take my mind off this room and the damned pain in me gut. I know; tell me about this other trainer you had. The one half as good as me.’

I laughed. ‘Twice as good as you and only half the trouble, that’s what he was.’

‘Then speak of him.’

So I did. And because I knew he wanted companionship even more than whisky, I began right at the beginning. Back in the days when I was in transition. Changing from a meek child, bullied and chided, to a wild animal, fuelled by a savage rage that once unleashed could not be controlled.

When I was eleven years old I was a workhouse kid, quite a different character from the one destined to walk to the gallows. The young Simeon was as timid as a mouse, wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone another human being.

But all that changed. Not as the result of a single event, but because of a series of experiences layered upon me like suffocating blanket after suffocating blanket. Humiliation by bullies, fear of being beaten and ridiculed, loneliness and desperation.

Buried inside me, beneath my cowardice and isolation, was a terrible anger that could not escape, that was unable to kick off those psychological blankets and allow me to breathe easily and free.

Until one morning.

Instead of running and crying, as was my wont, I had lashed out at two boys who had been making my life a misery and foolishly, I did so under the noses of our masters, ensuring we were all soundly punished.

I was caned and locked overnight in a coal cellar. The man who released me was memorably horrible. Brandon Timms was the only supervisor more lice-ridden and filthier than any of the wretches he oversaw. He was bald, save lank, greasy hair that sprouted just above his ears and fell beyond his shoulders. His hands were covered in crops of warts that he would rub in our faces. His old brown woollen suit was short in the legs and stank of every belly-load of beer he’d vomited and every careless piss he’d taken.

Timms clipped my head as he pushed me through the boardroom door and commanded, ‘Git over there, boy! And be sure you’re seen and not heard.’