Bishop Takes Knight

by McKenna Dean

  It seemed the day would never end, however, and after the shower, I asked to be taken to the train station.

  “Darling, are you sure? If you have a headache, perhaps you should just go lie down.”

  Em’s kindness made me want to scream. I knew I wouldn’t feel better in my dingy little apartment, but at least I wouldn’t have to put on a show of enjoying myself. “No offense, dear, but I just want to go home.”

  “Ah.” Em gave me a knowing look. “Your boyfriend didn’t leave on business, did he? He left you.”

  I surprised myself by bursting into tears.

  “There, there.” Em patted me on the shoulder and steered me into a small parlor. “Chin up, love. There’s more fish in the sea.”

  “But I liked this fish.” I plopped down in the wingback chair and dabbed at my eyes.

  “Well, that’s a first. Which is a good sign. It means it won’t be the last.”

  I gave her a watery smile and then relented when she offered to send me home in style via the family chauffeur. Riding in quiet luxury right up to my door beat the heck out of negotiating the train and then hailing a cab with luggage and a dog.

  The sun was setting when we pulled up to my lodgings, lighting the buildings across the street with a warm, buttery glow. I left the luggage on the curb and snuck Captain up the fire escape, only to have Trixie catch me as she sat in her open window smoking a cigarette.

  I paused in my climbing, with Captain tucked under one arm. “There’s a bottle of gin in it for you if you didn’t see the dog.”

  She stubbed out the cigarette and knotted her sash around her dressing gown before drifting toward us. She scratched Captain under the chin and he closed his eyes in bliss, even as a back foot jiggled in sympathetic itching. “Don’t need a bribe. I like dogs. Just don’t get caught.”

  I sighed and nodded. I’d hide Captain as long as I could, but I needed to look for another apartment, one that would allow dogs. The odds were Mrs. King would scout him out in no time, no matter how careful I was.

  On Sunday, I slept late and then wrote up my report for Ryker. Captain provided a welcome distraction to the merry-go-round of thoughts that plagued me otherwise. I fashioned a collar and lead out of an old headband and one of my belts. It would do until I could go to a pet store. Had it not been for sneaking Captain out on potty breaks and figuring out what to feed him—which was pretty much anything I hadn’t nailed down, since the dog had the stomach of a garbage can—I might not have left the couch.

  I tried reading but couldn’t concentrate on anything. Fiction just seemed too tame after the last twenty-four hours. I thought about baking cookies or something to bring with me to the office on Monday as a kind of peace offering, but I didn’t want to poison my coworkers. Cooking wasn’t my strong suit, no matter how easy Betty Crocker promised it could be.

  Instead, I worried about my job status. Ryker would decide I was too unreliable to continue as a field agent. I’d be relegated to desk work if I kept my job at all. The others would hate me for getting Russo hurt, and for losing the stolen artifacts. Miss Climpson would sniff and glare down her nose at me, and Mr. J would look like a sad Bassett hound who’d known all along I’d be a liability and a disappointment.

  And I decided I could live with all of that if Knight was there on Monday morning.

  But he wasn’t.

  After admonishing Captain to be as quiet as a mouse in my absence, I caught the bus to work. Perhaps if I had to move, I’d find an apartment closer to work so I could slip home at lunch and let Captain out. After all, if I had a velociraptor for a dog, I wouldn’t have to worry too much about the neighborhood, would I?

  Attacked by a sudden case of nerves, I wiped my palms on my skirt before opening the door to Redclaw, but all the stewing and worrying had been for naught. The reception area buzzed with activity as I entered, but no one paid me much attention, save for Miss Climpson, who arched an expressive eyebrow in my direction and then went back to her phone call.

  I typed up my report and took it to Ryker’s office without waiting for a summons.

  “Ah, there you are, Bishop,” he said when I knocked on his door, as though he’d called me in anyway. “I see you have your briefing done.”

  “Yes, sir. Any word on Russo?”

  “Recovering nicely. Grouchy as a bear, which is to be expected, under the circumstances.” His smile was without censure, even if it wasn’t warm.

  “Perhaps some honey would be in order.”

  “Good idea. I’ll suggest that to the staff.” This time, he offered an encouraging flicker of humor.

  “And Dr. Knight?”

  Ryker’s lids dropped partway, and he lifted one shoulder in the slightest of shrugs. “No word. But then, I expect it was a bit much to ask, given the manner in which he’d reacted to circumstances these last few years. Geniuses aren’t always the most stable of intellects. In his case, however, I’d rather hoped—” He eyed me with quiet speculation.

  “Sir?” I prompted.

  Ryker scooped up the Magic 8 ball and leaned back in his chair to roll it idly in his hands. “You seemed to have a rapport with him. I’d hoped the two of you would work together as partners. A team.”

  “I’d have liked that very much, sir. But I have a lot to learn about teamwork first.”

  “Acknowledging your faults is the first step to correcting them. Tell me, Bishop, do you think Knight will return?”

  I held my hand out for the 8 ball. When Ryker handed it over with a small smile, I thought about his question and rotated the ball so the window on the bottom faced up. The word cube floating within rolled end over end and came to a stop. “The signs are unfavorable,” I read aloud.

  “Ah well.” Ryker reclaimed the 8 ball and set it on the corner of his desk. “You can’t always rely on these things.” He gave me a measuring look. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

  “Sir?”

  “I didn’t know what to make of you when you arrived in our offices that first day. What with your flimsy excuse for being there and then you showed an aptitude for the artifacts. But that left us in a quandary: were you what you claimed and had just stumbled into our office by chance, or were you a plant? And if you were a spy, who sent you?”

  “If you thought I was a spy, why didn’t you send me packing?”

  His fingers splayed as he rolled his palm over. “Mr. Jessop asked me the same. Suffice to say I believe it’s better to keep an eye on the devil you know. If you were a spy, we could limit what you had access to. If you weren’t a spy, then you were someone very interesting, indeed. Despite the fact you’re a terrible typist.”

  This time his smile lit up his eyes.

  I frowned, however. “Just how is it that you know what’s going on in the main office? You knew about the Slinky—and the bread rolls—as soon as they happened.”

  He held up the 8 ball. This time when the sphere rotated, instead of a triangle with printed words, a small image of Mr. J’s office floated to the surface.

  “Is that—?”

  Ryker nodded. “We have cameras in several places. They feed into the 8 ball. I’m told we should have had one focused on Dr. Knight’s room.”

  Heat bloomed in my cheeks. I didn’t want to touch that statement with a ten-foot-pole. “At what point did you decide I wasn’t a spy?”

  He replaced the 8 ball on the corner of his desk. “You had every opportunity to poke around when left on your own, but you didn’t. At least, no more than the average new employee. And both Miss Climpson and Mr. Jessop tested you from time to time. Your ignorance of both the technology and your own ability to handle it seemed genuine.”

  “The mechanical spider.”

  He nodded again. “That was an accident, but a telling point in your favor. However, it became apparent during Billy’s break-in attempt you were unaware of shifters as well. Oh, I had a moment when you figured out things so quickly, I had my doubts, but that’s why I decided to test you by assignin
g you to find Knight.”

  “A safe enough test because you didn’t think I could.”

  “Not because I thought you were less than capable, but because no one had found him before. My mistake was then failing to give you any real training in what it means to be a Redclaw agent, even after I saw your potential for independent action and thinking on your feet. I should have realized those same characteristics would have unforeseen consequences without the proper parameters.”

  “I just wanted to prove myself to you and the others, sir.” I sat up straighter, meeting his gaze full on.

  “I see that now. Starting today, I’d like you to report to the labs. Ask for Williams. He’ll walk you through the protocols and see that you get off on the right foot this time. Set you up with a team for some easy retrievals, that sort of thing.”

  I sat down in the chair across from his desk. “You’re keeping me on? As a field agent, I mean?”

  “Why not? You’re intelligent and capable of independent thought and action, traits we value in our field agents. You have a tremendous amount of courage and don’t easily cave under pressure.”

  “I got you killed.”

  “No, you didn’t. I think we’ve established that I don’t stay dead. I chose to take bullets for you because I can.”

  “I disobeyed your orders to stay behind a desk. I almost got Russo killed.” My voice wavered as I choked out the last bit.

  Ryker nodded. “That much is true. If you owe anyone an apology, it’s Russo. You’re headstrong, but that’s the flip side of your strengths. I suspect you’ve been under-utilized most of your working life. Redclaw will change that. My mistake was not fully integrating you into the team. Yours was...resisting integration. You’ll need to work with other people, Bishop.”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like that, sir.”

  “That means taking orders from those in charge over you.” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow, as though he thought that might be a deal-breaker. As if reading my mind, he went on, “But I guarantee we will value and appreciate your input.”

  I couldn’t ask for better than that. Except, perhaps, for seeing Peter Knight walk in the door.

  Routing several violent gangs while attempting to recover artifacts under Redclaw purview generated a lot of paperwork. After I’d filed the appropriate forms in triplicate, I went down to the labs. Williams was a dark-skinned man with gray sprinkled in his tight black curls, who first asked me to compare the list of the missing inventory with everything I’d seen or recovered from the cave. I realized I’d forgotten to bring the ruby slippers to work with me, but he dismissed my concerns when I brought them up. “Take your time bringing them back. We’ll test them, but they don’t sound like anything special.”

  He then handed me a thick notebook brimming with loose papers. “Ryker thinks we need an employee handbook. I agree. Most of the protocols and mission guidelines are outlined here. I’d like you to review them, then organize them into an accessible format. If you come across anything you have questions about, or feel we haven’t covered, we want to know about that, too. Write it down.”

  “Me?” It seemed like I was the last person who should create employee guidelines.

  Williams flashed a brilliant smile at me. “I wondered about that, too. Ryker said who better to find the holes in the fence than the fox looking to get out of the henhouse?”

  I’m sure my smile in return was somewhat sour as I acknowledged the left-handed compliment. I wasn’t thrilled about the additional paperwork, either, but at least Ryker was keeping his word about my expertise and input.

  After that, Williams asked about the ray gun, brow furrowed in concentration as I recounted the functions and limitations it exhibited since it had been in my possession.

  “It must need time to recharge when being used heavily. It’s possible we might design some sort of battery pack for it. We need to run tests to determine its full capabilities.” He reached for it, but the gun reared back from his grasp and emitted an ugly high-pitched whine.

  “Perhaps another time,” I murmured.

  “Indeed.” His eyebrows jumped for his hairline, as if he’d raised his hands at gunpoint. With a sigh, he added, “What we need is a scientist who can understand the mechanics of the tech we’re discovering. I’m an engineer, but there are limits to my knowledge.”

  Redclaw needed Peter Knight.

  I didn’t dawdle over my assignments. When the clock struck five, I closed my typewriter and locked my folders in my desk. I wasn’t sure how long a little dog could go without a potty break and I had no idea what a dog-shifter might do to my apartment in my absence. Best get home on time for once.

  Captain met me at the door when I put the key in the lock, dancing on his hind legs with excitement and turning pirouettes. He took three or four steps toward the kitchen before rushing back, trying to hurry me along.

  The reason why wasn’t hard to discern. The mouthwatering scents of frying meat and onions, overlaid with apples and cinnamon, filled the apartment. I set my purse down on the coffee table and came to a rest in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the jamb to watch Knight cook.

  He stood with his back to me, one of my aprons tied around his waist, covering the lower portions of a crisp Oxford cloth shirt in pale blue, paired with navy pants sporting a sharp crease. A new navy jacket hung on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He’d set the table for two, with plates side by side. A tattered daisy leaned over in a water glass as the centerpiece. An open Bordeaux sat on the table.

  He continued to stir over the frying pan, not looking up as I came in.

  "You're here because?"

  "Well," Knight waved a fork, spattering the stove with grease, "Once I returned to my hovel, there were no terriers turning into dinosaurs, no bears, no owls, and no blonde with snappy comebacks who shoots people with ray guns like she was born to it, and maybe she was. Life was unspeakably dull."

  A slow smile tugged at my lips. "And perhaps lonely?"

  One shoulder lifted in a half-shrug.

  Pretending a nonchalance I didn’t feel, I nodded. "Perhaps, I, too, missed a devilishly handsome Englishman who's far too smart for his britches, and who is also the master of the snappy comeback. Your suitcase is here, by the way. I didn’t know where to send it."

  Something in the line of his back relaxed. "Well, there you are. I’m not sure where I’ll be staying at the moment. Hungry?" Casting a glance at the trembling dog who looked up at him with frank anticipation, Knight chucked a piece of bread in his direction. The dog leapt up, catching the food midair with the speed and accuracy of a striking snake.

  “You shouldn’t feed him like that. You’ll spoil his appetite.”

  Knight shot me a sly glance over his shoulder before he concentrated on the cooking once more. “That, my dear, is precisely the point. I rather think full is better, don’t you? If nothing else, I hope he’ll remember who gave him tidbits if I ever run into him in his hungriest, angriest form.”

  “You have a point.” There was something so right about Knight’s presence in my kitchen, fixing dinner as though he hadn't walked out of my life two nights ago. Everything that had seemed wobbly and off-kilter clicked into place and turned smoothly once more. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” He pointed to the various pots on the stove with the spatula, giving it a little flourish as he spoke. “The obvious, Salisbury steak. Over here we have mashed potatoes, and in this pan, cooked green beans. Not, I should point out, cooked into a limp mass in the tradition of some of your Southern chefs, but as God intended, which is to say still green and somewhat crunchy. There are rolls warming in the oven, and apple crisp for dessert.”

  I came forward to peer over his shoulder. “You realize, of course, this little performance will seal your fate as the maker of all meals in the future, right?” I wiped a drip of cinnamon glaze off the edge of the pan holding the crisp and brought my finger up to my lips. He just missed smacking my ha
nd with a wooden spoon as I leapt back, laughing.

  “I can live with that.”

  His words were quiet, but I took great satisfaction in them just the same.

  “I think this is done. Well, what are you waiting for? I cooked dinner. I’m not serving you, too.” Despite his claim to the contrary, he took the rolls out of the oven and transferred them to a glass dish, covering them with one of my linen napkins to retain the heat.

  Suppressing a grin, I filled my plate and crossed over to the table. It was then I noticed that his glass was filled with water. Startled, I glanced up, but he appeared not to notice. Eyeing the bottle of wine, I came to a decision and returned to the tap to fill my own glass with water as well. I took my seat across from him at the table.

  “How was work?” He passed me the rolls. He flicked a quick glance at my glass when I set it on the table, and though he didn’t make eye contact, a small smile quirked at his lips.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the warm yeasty aroma of the bread as I uncovered the rolls. Something bumped into my legs under the table, and a cold nose nudged my knee. I ignored it.

  “I still have a job. In fact, they put me in charge of creating an employee handbook, which will set protocols for future training of agents, among other things. No leads on the artifacts, though. It looks like Stirling got clean away with them.”

  Knight pursed his lips as he buttered a roll. “My guess is six months from now, we’ll see some breakthrough advances in industrial technology that will revolutionize factories, netting Stirling a fortune in sales as everyone climbs on board to do the same.”

  The Salisbury steak was divine. Mine always turned out as tough as shoe leather and about as tasty. I took a sip of water. “More like we’ll see some inventive new toy for the homemaker. Something that automatically slices bread or cooks food in a fraction of the time. Or records your television programs so you don’t have to be home when you watch them.”