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“At the time our viewer was not aware of our interest in your brother and only made note of the discussion because the trio struck him as out of place in the Ship and Kettle. Since then he has been told to be aware and report. I have also requested someone keep a watch on Mr Pettifer. Discreetly.
“I am hopeful other avenues will produce something rather more conclusive, but for the moment this is the most tangible trail”.’
She held out the note.
‘He never signs his notes, though one could never mistake his handwriting for anyone else’s. This is good news, isn’t it? In a way? At least you know he has recently been in London. Have you ever heard of this Pettifer?’
‘No. Nor do I particularly wish to. Damn Rafe! I beg your pardon.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Edge. I learned to curse before you did.’
‘Sometimes I think you were born cursing, Sam. At least you have moderated a little.’
‘So have you. A little. There is, perhaps, hope for you yet.’
She smiled. The sky was as clear a blue outside the window as the Egyptian sky in winter. Her eyes had that colour in them, caught between a darker blue rim and Atlantic grey. He wanted very much to trust that this current would take him somewhere safe. Or drown him. He had no idea any longer.
‘Shall we visit Mr Pettifer?’ She laid her hand palm up on the bed, more a question than a request, and he took it. He wanted to ask again if he was truly forgiven, but he still had enough sense to keep quiet.
‘Good. Now, what does one wear to visit a World of Wonders on Piccadilly?’
Chapter Thirteen
‘You must turn back Gabriel’s ship!’ Leila cried, but Khonsu shook his head.
‘It cannot be done. His dreams are tangled in the flow of Anuket’s river like a fishing net among the reeds.’
—Temple of the River God,
Desert Boy Book Two
Mr Pettifer was not quite what Sam had expected.
Or rather, not quite what the advertisement outside the halls of Mr Pettifer’s World of Wonders depicted. Unlike the impressive figure clasping a writhing dragon by the throat in one hand and a diamond the size of a small child in the other, Mr Pettifer stood only a couple of inches over five feet, with soft brown hair and even softer brown eyes filled with childlike wonder that enhanced rather than detracted from his impact.
He was speaking to a dour man who scuttled off as they approached, rather in the manner of a publican hurrying to hide his stores of smuggled brandy upon the entrance of an excise officer.
Mr Pettifer on the other hand assessed their clothes with a swift glance that showed both interest and caution, but when his gaze moved from Sam to Edge his eyes widened, giving his round face the look of a startled but still appealing sheep.
‘Goodness!’ he exclaimed.
‘You look discomfited, Mr Pettifer,’ Edge said and Mr Pettifer’s downy face reddened, but already Sam could see him recover his balance, a wide, welcoming, and wholly practised smile of invitation taking front and centre stage.
‘Not at all, not at all. I was merely momentarily struck by your resemblance to a man I once met, sir. You know what they say. Everyone has a twin somewhere and in my occupation I meet a great many people.’
‘Indeed. You find me curious, Mr Pettifer. Tell me about this twin of mine.’
But Pettifer was not to be pressed into a corner by so direct an approach.
‘Dear me, dear me, there is nothing to tell, sir. A mere acquaintance. A passing one at that. I’m afraid you have strayed a little—the theatre is down that corridor and the unwrapping does not begin for half an hour. You are more than welcome to visit the exhibits while you wait. I particularly recommend the Burmese Dragon and the Angel of Kathmandu—our most sought-after attractions and utterly unique.’
‘We are not interested in your attempts to defraud the gullible public, Pettifer. We are here for information.’
Pettifer held firm to his smile, his gaze slithering past them down the empty corridor. But then he gave a little sigh.
‘Naturally I shall be happy to assist you if at all possible, Mr...?’
Edge ignored the prompt.
‘Good, then you can begin by informing me where and under what circumstances you met this doppelgänger of mine?’
‘This...what?’
‘The man who looks like me.’
‘But, my very dear sir, there is nothing to tell. We merely chanced to share a table and a tankard of ale at a crowded public house, talked of the unseasonably cool weather and then each went about our business.’
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Pettifer. You see, the man you speak of does not care for ale.’
Mr Pettifer appeared even more thrown by this statement than by Edge’s resemblance to his drinking companion.
