The Silver Blade by Sally Gardner Page A

that the world is here, as you say, then maybe there’s a good chance that hell exists too.’

    To Anselm’s great relief Count Kalliovski’s reply had a hint of laughter in it, though his face remained waxwork smooth.

    ‘You have potential,’ he said. ‘Would you like to work for me?’

    ‘Yes,’ said Anselm. His puppy-like enthusiasm made Mr Tull wince.

    ‘When do I start?’

    Kalliovski glanced at him.

    Anselm felt something push down on his shoulders, an invisible force. His legs gave way under the pressure and he found himself on his knees.

    ‘You will do what I say, or you will be killed, do you understand?’

    Kalliovski inclined his hand in its red kid glove, a sign that Anselm was dismissed. Milkeye helped him up and took him from the chamber, leaving only Mr Tull.

    From the window the artificial glow of golden afternoon light flooded into the room and the reassuring sound of bird song could be heard from the cages hidden behind the painted flats.

    ‘A nightingale,’ said Kalliovski.

    Mr Tull had been dreading this meeting. He had told himself repeatedly that if his master took Anselm on he would speak out. He was determined to ask if he might be allowed to retire.

    ‘Now tell me about Sido de Villeduval.’

    Mr Tull, hands behind his back, feet squarely apart, started. ‘The Laxtons live in Queen Square, in Blooms-bury. The house is well-staffed and is a meeting place for many of the emigres newly—’

    ‘That interests me little. Tell me of the Marquise Sido.’

    ‘She is well cared for by her aunt and uncle. They are keen that she should master English and to that end she has lessons with a Mr Trippen, an actor. She is taken to his house in Maiden Lane by sedan chair twice a week and is always accompanied by two servants. This same Mr Trippen taught Yann Margoza.’

    Mr Tull, somewhat relieved that his other little enterprise appeared to be undiscovered and feeling braver, said, ‘I wonder if after this business I might be able to retire. It’s just that…’

    He didn’t finish what he had to say, for Kalliovski’s look of pure rage was enough to silence him.

    ‘Once you work for me there is no retirement other than your own demise. You will await further instructions. When the time is right you will bring Sido de Villeduval here. Until then you are dismissed.’

    B ack in the shop, Mr Tull, feeling the weight of hell upon his shoulders, said to Milkeye, ‘Balthazar seems even bigger than when I last saw him.’

    Milkeye turned his one good eye on Tull. ‘Our master knows what you do. He knows that you and the butcher and his boy had a very profitable sideline, don’t think he doesn’t.’

    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Mr Tull, an icy sweat breaking out on his forehead.

    Milkeye laughed. ‘You’re walking on the edge, my friend. One false move and you will be Balthazar’s next feast.’

    Mr Tull had the decidedly uncomfortable feeling that his bones might already have been reserved for the design of a chandelier or mirror.

    Milkeye followed him on to the street where Mr Tull breathed in the night air.

    ‘Do you know why he still wants Sido de Villeduval?’ he asked.

    ‘If I were you I wouldn’t want to know. I’ll tell you this much: she’s not all my master is after.’ A slow smile spread over his face. The effect was even more gruesome than usual. ‘The Marquise de Villeduval is only one part of his plan.’

    ‘What do you mean?’ said Mr Tull, feeling a shudder run down his spine.

    Milkeye leaned forward, towering over him. ‘This is much harder to come by - some say impossible, but such an indifferent word has never stopped the Count. He wants a key to a soul.’

    Mr Tull looked down the rue des Couteaux with a longing to be gone from this madness and never return.

    He thrust his shaking hands deep into his pockets. As he walked away he stumbled on a soft, unlikely thought. Under his breath he said, ‘Heaven help