Free Jack Maggs by Peter Carey

grasp.

14
    “THEN THIS IS HOW we will proceed,” said Tobias Oates, turning his back so that his great excitement could be hidden from the subject. “I will send a note to your Mr Buckle, explaining the present circumstances.”
    “He’ll dismiss me from his service.”
    “On my word, he will not dismiss you.”
    “He will.”
    “By the Lord above!” Tobias turned. “Mr Buckle will do exactly as I wish him to.”
    “If I am dismissed, where will I have my crib?”
    “Your master is a student of Mesmerism. He will be pleased to make you available for science.”
    Jack Maggs’s eyes narrowed, his hawk-nosed face turned hard and shiny, just like, Tobias thought, a peasant with a pig to sell.
    “I never said I were available to science.”
    “Nonsense. You made a bargain.”
    “No. You will get me to the Thief-taker. That is the bargain.”
    “Yes, I undertake to introduce you to Mr Partridge and do everything in my power to make that meeting a productive one for you. You, for your part, will do what I ask of you.”
    But the fellow was now staring down mulishly at his hands.
    “You never said nothing about science.”
    “For God’s sake, man,” cried Tobias Oates irritably.
    “Don’t shout at me, Mr Oates. I know what I heard.”
    “What is there to be unsure about?”
    Jack Maggs opened his hands so that the stumps of his fingers lay plainly displayed upon his knee. “I won’t have nothing written down.”
    Tobias feared he was about to lose his subject. He had played his hand too obviously. The man had seen his need.
    “That’s a pity, Master Maggs, because the deal is done and good enough to stand up in a Court of Law. I am going to make these movements,” he said, keeping his voice as stern and solemn as a magistrate. “They are called ‘passes.’ ”
    “No.”
    “You look me in the eye,” cried Tobias Oates. He began to pass his hands before the footman’s malevolent, heavy-lidded eyes. “Watch my hands, fellow.”
    Finally, Jack Maggs did watch. He watched warily, sitting a little sideways in the chair, as if the square white hands might do him a damage. And yet, by the time night had lifted from the misty little garden, his unshaven chin was resting on his chest.
    “Can you hear me?” Tobias Oates asked.
    “Yes, I can hear you.”
    Tobias blew out his red lips in silent relief. He reached across to his desk and picked up, first his note book, then his quill.
    “Are you comfortable?”
    The footman shifted his backside, a little irritably. “Yes, comfortable.”
    “Is the pain there?”
    “Leave me alone.”
    “Now you and I, Jack Maggs, we are going to imagine a place where there is no pain. Can you find a place like that?”
    “Leave me alone. The pain is always there.”
    “Then we are going to make a picture, like in a fairy tale. We are going to imagine a door so thick, the pain cannot get to you. We can imagine high walls made of thick stone.”
    “A prison . . .”
    “Very well, a splendid prison, with its walls twenty feet thick and—”
    The Somnambulist began to move his arms about violently. “No!” he shouted. “No, damn you!”
    “Quiet,” hissed Tobias. “Do you hear me? Quiet. If you don’t like a prison you can have a blessed fortress. A castle with battlements and flying flags. It can be a house. It does not matter.”
    “A house.”
    “Yes. A good sturdy house with double walls of London brick, and oak shutters on the windows.”
    “Morrison Brothers on the doors.”
    “Very good. Indeed. The locks and latches are made by dear old Morrison Brothers. Now we are standing on its threshold. Where is the pain?”
    “Damn the pain. It always follows me.”
    “In a shape? Is it the same shape? Like a man? Like an animal?”
    “I’m trying. I’m trying.”
    “Good. Good man.”
    “When I look at it, it changes. Now there are two of them.”
    “A man and an animal.”
    “No, no, leave off, leave off of me. Leave me alone.”
    “Very well. Is