The Jade Boy

The Jade Boy Read Free

Book: The Jade Boy Read Free
Author: Cate Cain
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painting. “Can’t say I like it myself.” The duke leaned closer to inspect the brushwork. “But, then again, my dear Count, you always seem to find the very thing.”
    The duke took a step back to admire the woman on the stag from a distance. “She’s certainly a pretty piece. His last work, d’ya say?”
    Count Cazalon’s eyes narrowed as he turned away from Jem to look at the duke. The count smiled again, and his thin red lips spread across his face like a gash.
    “I assure you it is quite unique, George. There will never be another like it. The artist died of the plague mere hours after putting the last stroke to the canvas. The lady, I believe, vanished without trace soon after.”
    Jem noticed that Cazalon’s voice had an odd sing-song note to it that sometimes slid into a long, fat hiss.
    “Well, well. How diverting. You have a remarkable knack for bringing me the most rare items, Cazalon.”
    The duke took out pair of golden pince-nez and scrutinised the painting again. He nodded to himself.
    Cazalon was now staring intently at Jem once more. He limped forward, supporting himself on the peculiar twisted staff and caught Jem’s chin in his hand, tipping the boy’s head back to catch the firelight.
    “Your name?”
    “J– J– Jem, sir.”
    “And what else?” Cazalon asked lazily. He turned to the duke. “What family name was the boy given, George?”
    As if noticing Jem properly for the first time, the duke looked over and laughed. “His mother calls herself Mrs Green. He’s known here as Jeremy Green. We call him Jem.”
    Jem felt uncomfortable. Under the cloth, his birthmark began to itch.
    “Jem
Green
, you say?” The count was suddenly interested – his grip tightened on Jem’s chin.
    Despite the heat in the room, the boy shivered. Count Cazalon’s red-gloved hand smelled strongly of roses, but beneath that there was another sour, putrid scent. It clawed at the back of Jem’s throat and gave him a sharp reminder of the time he’d been ordered to clear a spotted, maggot-riddled cheese from the cellar store.
    Jem caught his breath. Close to, he now saw that the count’s face was painted deathly white, like one of the actresses at Drury Lane. The thick lead make-up was cracked, like a spider web of wrinkles. The man’s obsidian eyes were long, slanted and outlined in black. In their glimmering mirror Jem could see two tiny doll-like versions of himself.
    Cazalon smiled again and looked Jem up and down. The boy rubbed nervously at his throbbing knuckles, and as the count caught sight of the bloody rawness there, just for a second, his eyes seemed to widen and blacken completely, like ink seeping through water.
    Cazalon drew a sharp rasping breath and took a step back.
    “And how old is the boy, George?”
    The duke commanded Jem to answer for himself.
    “I– I am twelve, my lord.”
    Cazalon nodded and pursed his painted lips. “And when is your birthday, child?”
    “In September, sir.”
    Jem was amazed, no one ever took any notice of him, let alone of his birthday.
    The count continued, “Do you know the exact date?”
    “I was born on the fourth day of September in the year sixteen hundred and fifty-three, sir.”
    At this Cazalon smiled so broadly that his long angular face seemed to split in two. He brought his crimson-gloved hands together as if he was praying and Jem thought he heard the man murmur softly, “Perfect…”
    In the hearth a log flared into a shower of brilliant red sparks and popped loudly.
    A sudden scuffling noise came from the far end of the room, where one of the tapestries lining the wall now appeared to be twitching.
    Jem watched as a tiny black and white shape emerged from behind the fabric and clambered onto the golden bar from which the tapestry hung – a monkey.
    Count Cazalon followed Jem’s astonished gaze.
    “Ptolemy, bring Cleopatra down,” he ordered in a slow, bored voice.
    Another figure emerged from the gloom at the far end of the salon.

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