The door to the shop.
Too late! he thought, even as he ran forward.
Based on the size of the entry wound and the likely position of the shooter, taking into account the location of the ship, and a tricky shot through a porthole, it had probably been a L115A3 long range rifle delivering a .338 Lapua Magnum round. Noel had used the same weapon a number of times in his career. Even as his mind analysed the details he was instinctively drawing his pistol and taking cover behind the large bookcase featuring histories about the ship, the wild card virus, and – incongruously – children’s books by British writers. The case and its contents wouldn’t stop the bullet, but they would slow it down and limit the damage it would do to him. But seconds passed and no second shot followed. Apparently the elderly joker had been the target. The question was why? Noel moved to her side despite his sure knowledge she was dead. A pool of blood with a small mixture of brain matter was creating a macabre halo around her head as she lay on the wooden floor.
Green Man had a good head of speed up by the time he hit the shop’s door and it swung open with a bang, the welcome bell joining in with manic cheer. The space here was cluttered with stands, displaying postcards, key rings and all manner of ways to spend money. History and cheap tat were sprinkled liberally in every corner. On the other side of the shop, he saw Dorothy, her thick body spread-eagled on the floor. And standing over her was a man.
He was of medium height with a slender build. From the back he was just another white man with short grey-flecked brown hair. Ubiquitous and unremarkable except for two things. The first was that he was too calm. Clearly this was not the first time he’d been face to face with a dying woman. And secondly, he was carrying a handgun in a manner that suggested he knew how to use it. Green Man was not an expert on guns, but he doubted this one would have the power to stop him easily.
The man was already turning, his gun naturally drawing level with Green Man’s chest, even as he took him in.
The Silver Helix maintained a file on the Green Man, out-and-out thug and gangster dabbling in low-level crime, a man who always managed to push off the prosecutions onto his lackeys. And right now there was murder in the eyes behind the mask. Noel also knew bullets would do little, but he hoped the kinetic impact of the slugs would give him time to transform.
They didn’t.
Blue eyes moved swiftly from surprise to cool detachment, and then the gun was firing. Two shots, almost on reflex it seemed, and both hit their mark. The man was clearly a professional, but unfortunately for him the rounds did little more than ruin another shirt and add a few minutes to the Green Man’s next grooming session.
At full speed now, the Green Man lunged for his opponent, but the man was fast, professionally trained. Instead of hitting him dead on, his wooden fist glanced along the man’s ribs as he dived clear.
Going too fast to stop, Green Man crashed into, and then through, the counter, the old mahogany splintering with a groan. He ground his teeth. I’ve failed to stop the assassin, and now I’m destroying pieces of history. When he turned around, the man was already backing away, one hand wrapped around his ribs. ‘Hold on,’ he said, and made a show of tossing his pistol to one side, and displaying his empty palm.
Green Man followed its arc with his eyes, and then crouched by Dorothy’s body. As he expected, she was dead. He stood up again, fury clouding his vision. It was time for some answers.
But when he looked at the man again he hesitated. The slender form he’d seen before was no longer there. In its place was a taller figure, with a broader chest and golden hair of the kind usually seen only in commercials. The blue eyes had become golden too, and the unremarkable skin had taken on a bronze tan. If it hadn’t been for the fact he was still holding his ribs and still standing in the exact same spot, Green Man would have assumed they were different people.
An ace! And one who got all the luck by the look of it. ‘So,’ he said, trying to keep the envy out of his voice, ‘all it takes is a word from the Crown and the Silver Helix show their true colours.’
The man didn’t reply, his gaze drifting slightly past Green Man’s shoulder. Then he vanished.
Damn! Is he gone? Or just invisible? Or small?
Green Man glanced wildly about. His efforts were quickly rewarded. The man had appeared behind him and had plucked an aerosol can from one of the shelves. The golden eyes gave nothing away, and by the time Green Man saw the lighter in his other hand it was too late.
Flames lashed out, golden. Everything about this man is gold, thought Green Man uselessly, as he stumbled back, trying to protect his face. He felt the heat on his arm far more than he had the bullets in his chest. A fear rose in him, stifling his rational mind. He was so distracted, so busy flailing in an effort to put out his arm before the fire spread to his shoulder, that he barely noticed the knife the man had seemingly conjured from nowhere, barely noticed him dart under the Green Man’s guard and thrust its edge against his neck.
Luckily, the blade didn’t go that deep, and even if it had, there wasn’t a windpipe or a critical vein to cut. His opponent didn’t know that though, and Green Man took advantage of the moment to grab his perfectly tanned shoulder. One moment there was meat under his fingers, then nothing.
Damned teleporters!
Again, the man hadn’t gone far. He was on the opposite side of the shop, his head cocked to one side as he surveyed his handiwork. Green Man used this brief pause to rub the last of the flames from his arm. He needed to land a solid hit and end the fight before his resourceful enemy found a way past his natural armour.
Green Man picked up a piece of ruined counter and threw it across the shop. It flew, spinning, like a giant Frisbee, to crash through the space where the man had been standing.
A second later, Green Man felt a weight land on his back. He twisted instinctively, trying to dislodge it, but a firm grip was already established on his neck, and this time, the knife was coming for his eye. Desperate, Green Man jerked his head to one side, the knife point stabbing just to the right of the socket, and burying itself deep into his mask. As the man tried to work it free, Green Man’s oversized right hand closed around his forearm.
Got you!
He squeezed, and there was a satisfying crack. It was followed by an even more satisfying scream, and then the man was gone.
Green Man looked around the shop, and then a second time to be sure, but he seemed to be truly alone this time. In no way did he relax though. He pulled the phone from his pocket.
‘Wayfarer?’
‘Here.’
‘We’re too late. An ace got here first. Probably a tame one that belongs to the Silver Helix. Be ready. I wouldn’t be surprised if they call down more trouble on our heads.’
‘Understood.’
He knelt down and closed Dorothy’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
Despite his appearance, or perhaps because of it, nobody stopped him as he stepped down from the Queen Mary. The van was waiting to pick him up, and he slumped gratefully inside. The bullets in his chest were slightly itchy – he would have to prise them out later, and he could already feel his body trying to repair the damage on his neck. There would be a scar, probably one that made its own flowers. His arm actively hurt, however, the blackened patches tingling uncomfortably.
At least it was my right arm.
They switched vans on the way to the safe house, just in case, and Wayfarer joined him in the back. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
‘Anything I can do?’
He shook his head. ‘Not unless you happen to know about a shapeshifting, teleporting ace with a disgustingly even tan, who carries out assassinations for the Crown.’
She echoed his headshake.
‘I was close, Wayfarer, but not close enough to save her.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I. This was bigger than one woman. The things she knew could have changed all of our lives.’ He sighed. ‘There’s only one good thi
ng to come from this.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘Vindication. Now we know that the rumour of a joker prince is true. Henry sent that agent after Dorothy. He was so scared that what she knew could get out that he was willing to kill to keep it quiet. Now it’s just a question of whether we’re trying to find a living prince or a body.’
‘So, what now?’
Green Man sighed again. ‘I don’t know. We’re fighting an enemy that holds all of the cards and doesn’t even need to obey the rules.’
‘That’s never stopped you before.’
He nodded. ‘No. It hasn’t.’
‘Then what’s the plan?’
‘Rest, regenerate, think. Tomorrow, we pay our respects to Margaret. After that, we get revenge.’
‘You going to go after an ace?’
‘We’re going after them all. Aces, princes, anyone that’s made us suffer.’
Bobbin and Constance were ensconced in her flat. They’d boarded up the atelier and given the remaining tailors the week off with pay. Constance had brought a rack of clothes she couldn’t bear to leave behind, including Noel’s suit which she hoped to make some real progress on now that they were settled and bloody Henry had his bloody suit.
After she had placed it in the hands of an equerry and almost slammed the door behind him Bobbin had said regretfully, ‘I suppose you didn’t have any choice but to give that to Henry?’
‘I told the Lion and Turing I would. I think Henry’s a pig, but I’ll protect him this once. Lord, what a bastard. And he’s giving those anti-joker bastards coverage, Bobbin. With him saying such things, it’ll make it seem as if it’s normal. Good Lord.’
She shook her head at the memory and it made her a little dizzy. Bollocks, she thought. My vertigo is acting up again.
‘Let’s have some tea,’ she said. ‘It’s the English way.’
Bobbin nodded as he headed for the small kitchen. ‘What sort would you like?’
‘Oh, whatever you want.’ She pulled out Noel’s jacket and laid it on the dining-room table. ‘I think I have everything we usually drink at the shop.’
She heard the tap being turned on and then the familiar sounds of Bobbin pottering about making tea. A short time later, he appeared with two steaming cups.
‘As it happens, I’ve never been to your flat before,’ he said as he placed the cups on the coffee table. ‘Not once in all the time I’ve known you. I like it, though. It’s rather you, isn’t it?’
A bright warm sunflower-yellow feeling expanded in her. The world might be turning to shite, but she had Bobbin.
‘I saw your flat for the first time ever when I was looking for you the other day,’ she replied. She tried not to feel guilty about it. ‘I couldn’t help but notice they’re rather alike. I mean, the colours and all.’
He smiled. ‘I noticed that as well. Imagine all the things we could have shared with one another. I hate to think of everything we wasted …’
‘No,’ she said, hurrying to his side. ‘Don’t say that! We have what we have now and that’s good enough.’ She grabbed his hand and began leading him towards her bedroom.
‘I’m not certain what you have in mind, Miss Russell, but I’m an innocent young lad.’
‘I think not,’ she replied with a laugh. ‘I seem to recall a period in your forties where you were game enough for more than a few wenches.’
‘They weren’t wenches, they were perfectly nice girls.’
She gave his hand another tug, but he resisted. ‘Do you not want to?’ she asked. There was a moment when she wondered if she had misunderstood.
He blushed. ‘Of course I want to! My God! But Constance, it’s been a while. I think I may have forgotten what to do.’
She pulled him into an embrace and then kissed him gently. ‘I’ve forgotten, too, luv. And my terrain isn’t what it once was.’
He took her face in his hands, careful as always about the spindles between his fingers. ‘You are beautiful, Constance. You’ll always be beautiful to me. My God, how I love you.’
‘Feh, I’ve never been beautiful,’ she said, shaking her head. He’d said he loved her and that made her frightened and momentously happy at the same time. ‘You know that very well.’
‘Would you say I’m beautiful, Constance? With this mug? But it isn’t just your face that’s beautiful. It’s you. You’re passionate, kind, brave, and talented. You’re vast!’
‘You’re mad,’ she said, reaching up and taking his hands in hers. ‘Come to bed with me. I’ll help you remember.’
Tomorrow she would be burying yet another friend, but today she had Bobbin. And she felt very much as if she’d been given an immense prize at a most improbable time in her life.
‘Bobbin …’ she said as she opened the door to the bedroom. She turned back to look him in the eyes as she led him inside. ‘I love you, too.’
The arm hurt like the blazes and every breath was a knife to the chest. Noel’s hand was sweat-slick on his mobile phone as he rang up Constance. She answered on the second ring. He didn’t bother with a salutation just blurted, ‘Constance, I need that suit. Need it now. May I meet you at the shop?’
‘There is no shop, Noel. They burned me out.’ Stress, age and sadness filled her voice.
‘Oh, bloody hell. But your work. It would have been fine, yes?’
‘I did salvage what I could. It’s all at my flat.’
‘What’s the address?’
‘It’s unfinished. I haven’t sewn all the parts.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll take whatever you’ve got.’
‘You’re in trouble.’
‘Actually just got out of it … barely.’
She gave him the address.
The flat was in Soho, quite close to Carnaby Street. Still missing the glory days, are you, old girl? Noel thought as he limped to the building. He buzzed her flat from the intercom. An instant later the door clicked open.
He took the lift up to her floor and headed down the hall. She was waiting just outside her door peering anxiously at him.
‘Well, get in here,’ she snapped and gestured sharply.
‘After you, madam.’
‘Oh bugger that,’ she huffed but she preceded him into the flat.
He had never been there and he took a moment to notice that the good taste displayed in her shop extended to her living space.
She was studying him, a frown between her brows. ‘Cuppa tea?’
‘Whisky if you’ve got it. And some aspirin wouldn’t come amiss.’
‘Bloody hell.’
She stalked off and he carefully removed his jacket, hissing in pain as it slid from his arm. When she returned she was carrying a tumbler with three fingers of whisky, and a bottle of aspirin. An older joker was with her, bearing an armful of clothes. Noel vaguely remembered him from his earlier visits to the shop back when he had been an agent.
Noel shook out five aspirin and washed them down with the whisky. Constance was gazing at the way he was cradling his right arm. She gently unbuttoned the cuff and rolled back the sleeve. The broken arm was beginning to swell and the bruises were livid against his pale skin.
‘Oh, pet, what have you got yourself into?’
Her carefully cultivated accent slipped a bit, but what hit him in a way Noel hadn’t expected was her use of the endearment. Not since his father’s death had anyone used that word with him.
‘Just all kinds of fun and jollification.’
‘You need to see a doctor,’ the joker said.
‘I will as soon as …’ Noel nodded at the pile of clothes the man held.
Constance snatched down the coat and slacks. ‘Like I said, it’s not finished.’ And indeed one panel of the suit jacket was missing.
‘I can’t go around in public like that. How long would it take you to finish it?’ he asked.
‘Another day at least.’ She interpreted his expression correctly. ‘I get it. You want it now because …’
She gestured at his arm. ‘Well, you’re a damned idiot for doing something so dangerous at your age!’
‘What about the leather coat?’ the man asked.
She lifted it from his arms. It was long, calf-length black leather. She eyed it and Noel. ‘Yes, be a bit big, but it could work.’
‘I’ll take it,’ Noel said firmly.
‘Pygmalion is going to be so unhappy with me.’
The knowledge burned in his brain as he walked to the door of Constance’s flat. It wasn’t public yet. The outcry was yet to come. He hadn’t taken any action, but he already knew the way this would have to play out. A joker had died and the Fists would answer in kind, but louder. He could already feel the blood on his hands, oiling the wheels of recrimination, of action and reaction, as they swirled faster and faster, going from them to the nats and back to them, and so on, until the wheels were turning too fast to stop, too fast to see whose turn it was any more.
His knock on the door betrayed none of this. ‘May I come in?’ he asked when Constance answered. She nodded.
Green Man ducked into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘These are difficult times for all of us. You’ve been a friend so I wanted to warn you. Things are going to get much worse before they get better and you could be in danger.’
‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ asked Bobbin.
Green Man looked into those gold-framed eyes and found that he did not want to lie. ‘I suppose you’ll find out soon enough. An elderly joker woman was assassinated aboard the Queen Mary.’
Constance had gone awfully pale. ‘And now five more innocent people are going to die.’
‘We live by the law of five for one. Five for every single one. If it’s any consolation, I’ll do my best to ensure the targets are far from innocent.’
‘But you can’t!’
Three Kings Page 17
