Paul convulsed and sounded as if he were strangling once more. Julian put a supporting hand on one of Paul’s shoulders. Paul’s other hand came up from the blanket to grasp Julian’s wrist with what Matthew saw were only two fingers—the thumb and the index—as the remainder of the hand had been surgically sliced away.

“Easy, easy,” Julian said, and his brother’s body seemed to relax. In another few seconds the strangling sound ceased. Paul looked up at Julian and nodded, as the saliva continued to drip from the black cloth mask into the bowl.

“I want you out of this house, and never return here,” said Garrett.

“Very well … for now.” Julian offered his father the same charming smile that Matthew recalled receiving from him in London just before the trap had snapped shut on Matthew’s neck. He patted his brother’s shoulder and smiled down into the ruined face. “I’ll come back and take you sailing someday. I vow it. Would you—”

“Don’t lie!” Garrett snapped. “And don’t coddle him! He knows his condition!”

“A condition not helped by being held prisoner here, the same as it was last time. Get him out in the fresh air, for God’s sake! Take him over to the harbor and let him—”

“Let him catch his death of cold in that fresh air and see men walking on two legs at the harbor, working and laughing and … and being whole? Oh, yes, that would be very helpful to him! Windom, return Paul to his room.” Windom paused, a shade of indecision on his face as he looked from the rear admiral to Julian and back again. “Take him, this instant,” Garrett commanded in a deadly-quiet voice, his gaze fixed upon his younger son.

“Yes sir,” said the servant, and he took his position behind the chair to turn it and wheel it away. Paul made a noise like a grunt and his eyes narrowed with anger as he regarded his father; it was clear he wanted to remain in the room, but it was not to be.

Julian stepped toward his departing brother and, laying a hand upon his shoulder, walked beside the chair until Windom reached the door. At the door Paul grasped Julian’s hand with both his whole right hand and the mangled left, and Matthew saw the knuckles whiten with the squeeze.

“I’ll come back for you,” Julian said, and then Paul released him and Windom pushed the chair onward, the wheels making small squeaking sounds on the lacquered black floorboards. The noise diminished as Windom guided his charge toward, Matthew presumed, Paul’s chamber on the lower level at the back of the house.

“Our business is concluded,” Garrett said. With a face of solid granite he motioned Julian and Matthew out of the room. He opened the front door to the cold winds that had begun to crisscross each other and blow through the naked trees on the far side of the road. Without another word Julian put on his tricorn, pulled his cloak up tighter around his shoulders and chin, readjusted the saddlebag across his shoulder, and strode out of the house; Matthew put on the hopefully lice-free woolen cap, then his tricorn, and likewise situated his cloak tighter around his body, for winter had for sure and quite suddenly descended upon the land.