AN HOUR LATER, after weaving their way through the labyrinthine backstreets of Lambeth, Quaint and Prometheus had made it to the near end of the Vauxhall Bridge, and they were close to their destination, crouched behind a large outbuilding.
'So, what's next?' asked Prometheus, trying his best to squat down into the shadows. 'Or are you on the…run from the…law now, same as me?'
'We need Destine's advice as to which direction we need to take,' Quaint said.
'A plan? That's not like ye, Cornelius,' said Prometheus, with a knowing wink. 'Surely, the plan is…I go t'Crawditch and speak t'the Police. I need t'hand meself in, Cornelius! Clear up this…mis…understandin', do ye not understand?'
Quaint bit at his bottom lip, and stared at his Irish friend. It was confusing hearing Prometheus talk, and how tentatively each word was delivered, in such a contrast to his physical bulk. On more than one occasion the Irishman had begun a sentence, only to clamp his mouth shut and keep silent. But he was slowly getting his confidence back, and renewing his acquaintance with his voice. Quaint was biding his time, waiting for Prometheus to explain how it had miraculously reappeared. He had never heard his friend utter so much as a single syllable in all the time he had known him, and yet somehow the deep Irish twang was how he'd imagined Prometheus to speak. He was transfixed, watching the strongman's big beard and moustache twitching from one side to the other like a ventriloquist's dummy as Prometheus spoke.
'I need t'hand meself in, clear up this mis…Er…misunder…misunderstandin'!'
'Commissioner Dray has the weight of Scotland Yard bearing down on him at the moment,' Quaint said. 'He may decide to make a scapegoat out of you, and he's certainly made it clear that my past friendship with him won't sway the balance in your favour. If anything, it'd work against you.'
'But, Cornelius…I can speak up for meself now…just about.'
'Yes, I'd noticed that…and I have been waiting…'
'Ye're probably…wonderin' how that…came about, right?'
'Amongst other vexing questions swimming around my head, yes,' said Quaint. 'Such as: how on earth did you get out of prison? I thought I was supposed to be the magician, and here you are performing not one, but two miracles in one day.'
Prometheus had known this conversation was coming. There was little point in trying to sidestep it. Like a wart on the end of his nose, there was no avoiding the attention. A seven-foot-plus mute giant who could now miraculously speak was sure to be a conversation starter.
'Which…which one d'ye want t'hear first, eh?' he asked Quaint.
'The police station,' replied his friend. 'Forget just why you were stupid enough to escape when I had specifically told you to let me handle things…I want to know how you managed it. I inspected the bars on the window grate myself…they had been eaten away by acid. Now…how the hell did you get hold of acid in a bloody police station?'
Prometheus rubbed a thick hand over his bald head. 'Well, the…um…the answer to why I was so stupid…and how I escaped…is the same.' He tensed as he heard a rustle in the building behind them, and Quaint's hand darted out and grabbed his arm. The two hunched men relaxed as a ginger cat came scurrying out from the shadows, and they exchanged relieved glances. 'Cornelius…I don't don't know…if this is the right place for this. It's not easy…hearin' me own voice, for a start!'
'I'm in no rush, and it's a long walk to Hyde Park,' Quaint said, with a grin. 'Did you suddenly get a visit from angels bestowing the gift of voice upon you, or something?'
'There was…nothing angelic… about it, man,' Prometheus answered. 'Cornelius…m'not sure…how much sense I'll make,' he said, slumping his backside down onto the stony ground. 'The truth is…it ain't some miracle how I got…got me voice back…'cos it never really went away.'
'What are you talking about, man?' asked Quaint. 'No pun intended.'
Prometheus's defences relaxed as he saw the glint of friendship in Quaint's black eyes. He exhaled noisily, his beard fluttering in the breeze, and he sighed a mournful sigh, as if he were unburdening a lifelong secret-which of course, was exactly what he was about to do.
'Well, the thing is…I…I chose not to speak.'
'I think you're getting your words confused,' said Quaint. 'What do you mean, you "chose" not to speak?'
'I thought…it was…for the best…at th'time, anyways. Started out…like somethin' to protect meself…next thing I knew…it was a dec…decade later. Think…I almost…convinced meself I was a mute.'
Quaint's brow furrowed. 'You mean…all this time, all these years, you could have spoken…and yet you didn't? But…why?'
'It goes back t'years ago…back home in Ireland…someone very…close t'me…she was killed. Her name was Lily, an' me an' her got on just grand…the problem was, her family weren't as…keen on me, 'specially her two brothers.'
Prometheus took a deep breath, as he laid out his past before Quaint. 'They tried t'separate us time an' again, 'til one day…it all came to a head.' He paused, catching the look of anguish on Quaint's face. 'Don't you be lookin' like that, mate,' Prometheus said, almost tenderly. 'I ain't about…t'blub all over ye. I need to exorcise this demon…once and fer all. Y'see…Lily's two brothers…they trapped her when I was out workin'. They…they locked her up in a barn…threatened t'set it on fire. I got home…only t'see 'em waving bloody torches aroun' like some sort of witch-hunt. Lily's youngest brother…Tommy…said somethin' about me being a…a "freak against God" or somesuch nonsense…I punched him so hard, damn near took his head off…he threw his torch into the barn…said he would rather…watch his sister burn than be wi' a monster like me. I'm too busy fightin' t'hear Lily's screams…'
'She died in the fire?' asked Quaint.
Prometheus nodded. 'Aye, an' her brother Sean with her. O'course…Tommy blamed me for it all.' He sniffed back a tear that clung to the tip of his nose like a bead of early morning dew. 'He was…a bad seed, that one. He ended up doin' life…in Blackstaff prison…on account o' the Irish refusin' t'take 'im…somethin' about his religious fixations…that sent a chill up their bones…I think. Don't blame 'em…for what he'd done. Life wasn't enough…if ye ask me. Should've hanged th'bastard.'
'And what happened to you then?' asked Quaint.
'Me? I dried up like a prune, shut meself away,' Prometheus said, a rueful smile on his broad face, as he relayed the darkest chapter of his life. Talking to Quaint was a sobering experience for the man-for them both. Here he was chatting away, baring his soul, and it felt good. It felt right. He could have done so at any time in the past, but something held him back. Something held him cocooned within himself. But now, with Twinkle's death so raw to him, it was as if he didn't have the strength to keep up the barriers any more. He was crawling further from his cocoon with each new revelation. 'I just…just shut it all off…in me brain,' he continued. 'Like…'cos then maybe that way…no one'd get hurt again. From that day…'til today…I ain't spoken a damn word to any soul.' Prometheus pinched at his moustache, and scrambled to his feet. He clenched his fists, and then they hung limply at his sides. 'When I found out about Twinkle…I realised it didn't matter whether I…was a mute or not…the people I loved still got hurt. But, it ain't easy to deal with, Cornelius…knowin' that…every woman I fall…in love with…is destined to die. Mebbe it ain't me…but, what if it is? What if…I'm…t'blame? What if I'm causin' it all somehow?'
'Don't be a fool,' said Quaint, standing to join Prometheus. 'You've been unlucky, but it happens to us all. You have suffered, more than anyone should ever have to, and you have my sympathy. But in life, everyone experiences their fair share of heartache and pain. It is unavoidable. It is not gravity that binds men's feet to the earth, Prometheus-it is Fate-and she will not be bargained with. She is like the wind, the sea, the rain. Fate is ever-present-and we are all at her mercy.' Quaint ruffled his thick mop of hair, trying to find the right words of consolation. 'Just look at me if you want proof of that. Here I am in my mid-fifties, and I'm still crouching in shadows and hiding from the law. Fate has singled me out, and shaped my soul. What has changed in my life?'
'Perhaps you've become better at hiding, Cornelius.'
'Better at running away, don't you mean? But I was not going to run out on you, Prometheus-and I still won't! So…with Lily's brother incarcerated in Blackstaff prison, at least that's an end to it all, then. You can move on.'
'Maybe…except…I'm not sure it has ended, mate,' said Prometheus. 'Both the loves of me life've been…taken from me…by the same bloody man. Maybe it won't ever end. Maybe you're right, what you say about Fate. I'll bet she's 'aving a right good laugh at me…expense, so she is! I don't know how he got out but I'll find him-that's for sure. Drivin' me insane like this-it's all part of his game.'
'Prometheus, what are you talking about?'
'He came to me cell…back at the police station…tauntin' me, rilin' me up through the bars from outside, he was.'
'What? Who was? What do you mean?'
Prometheus ground his teeth, and started pacing in circles. 'I got so mad…I went for him. Grabbed hold of the bars…and they just snapped right out…taking half the bleedin' wall with 'em! I know he's responsible. I just know it!'
'Prometheus, you aren't making any sense. Who? Who's responsible?' he asked, rounding on Prometheus, standing right in front of him.
He placed his hands upon the giant's chest to restrain him forcefully, and Prometheus stopped in his tracks. The unstoppable force had met the immovable object, and suddenly the rage that blazed in Prometheus's eyes faded.
'It's Lily's brother, o'course,' answered the giant. 'Th'same bastard who caused all this mess we're in…Tommy Hawkspear!'