Redlaw - 01

by James Lovegrove

  Redlaw took aim. Tried to take aim. Took aim. Tried to. His target wavered in his vision. Vlad couldn’t have been more than ten feet from him. Impossible to miss at that range. But he wouldn’t seem to stay still. One moment he was solid, the next a juddering, smeary blur.

  Fire anyway.

  But what if the bullet hit Illyria?

  If you don’t shoot, she’s done for.

  Vlad swam into focus. Redlaw made every effort to fix his position in his mind’s eye. Then he fired. And fired again. And again.

  Had he got him? He couldn’t tell. The barrel flashes had dazzled him, three gibbous blue afterimages floating across his vision. His ears were ringing from the percussion of the gunshots.

  Time passed. Maybe quite a lot of it. Redlaw became aware that he was flat out on the grass. He was cold, chilled to the bone, his overcoat sodden. People were talking nearby. Two men. One was Slocock. The other...

  “Shame about Vlad, but it was for the best. Despite what I promised, I couldn’t have turned him loose, not really.”

  Lambourne?

  “Still, at least he did what was required of him before he got dusted—subdued them both.”

  Lambourne. Redlaw stirred himself. Get up. Go on, do it!

  “Hey, look, he’s coming round.”

  That was Slocock.

  “Can’t have that, can we?”

  A pair of legs presented themselves before Redlaw.

  “Not yet.”

  An expensively shod foot lashed out.

  Redlaw saw light, sun-incandescent, then blackness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Wakey-wakey.”

  A slap on the cheek.

  There was brightness and pain, so much of both that Redlaw immediately let himself slip back into the warm enveloping ink of oblivion.

  Another, firmer slap.

  “I said ‘wakey-wakey.’”

  Again, nothingness was preferable to consciousness. Consciousness meant sharp aches, jagged throbs of light that seemed to scorch his eyeballs.

  “Come on, Redlaw. Can’t have you dozing.”

  The voice—Slocock’s—became insistent, as did the slapping. Finally, just to make it stop, Redlaw groaned and levered his eyelids apart.

  “Enough,” he said thickly. “All right. I’m here. Enough.”

  He was in a desk chair, hands fastened behind his back. Electrical flex cut into his wrists. The position was torment to his shoulder. Many other parts of him hurt too, though none quite as badly.

  He was in the observatory, on the viewing gallery. With him were Slocock and Lambourne. Of Illyria he could see no sign.

  The two men stood side by side. There was no animosity evident between them. Their body language spoke only of common purpose, unity. Their smiles matched, equally smug and superior.

  “I should have known,” Redlaw said, looking from one to the other, industrialist to politician, and back. “There was no great falling-out, was there? That was just a lie. A ruse.”

  “Well, Nathaniel and I did have something of a difference of opinion earlier today,” said Slocock. “But we’re over it. Once I agreed to bring him you, all was forgiven and forgotten. Think of yourself as a peace offering, Redlaw, a human olive branch. That’s quite a beautiful thing to be, really.”

  “I knew you weren’t to be trusted.”

  “Yet you trusted me anyway. Either I’m remarkably plausible or you’re remarkably gullible. Probably it’s a bit of both. Plus, you wanted to get hold of some kind of evidence against Nathaniel so badly. I could have told you I knew where to find photos of him strangling flower fairies with his bare hands, and you’d still have come along.”

  The flex wasn’t only tying Redlaw’s hands together, it was securing him to the chair back. Straining against his bonds did nothing but increase the pain.

  “You, Mr Redlaw, have become a right royal pain in the arse,” said Lambourne. “No, that’s overstating it somewhat. A thorn in the side. You harass my site supervisor at the distribution depot, you hijack one of my trucks, you poke your nose into my affairs—you’ve been so persistent. A regular goddamn bloodhound. I’ve done all I can to get you off my back, pulled every relevant string I know of, and it’s still not been enough. But at last, thanks to Giles—and Vlad, God rest his soul—I have you where I want you.”

  He sleeked back his silver hair.

  “Sad that it’s had to come to this, but let’s be frank, you brought it on yourself. You didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. You just kept doggedly at it, trying to knock down everything I’ve been building up this past couple of years. I don’t take kindly to people who interfere with my deals. Don’t take kindly to them at all.”

  “Let me go,” Redlaw said. “You can’t hold me like this. I’m a SHADE officer.”

  “What’s the use of trying that, when we all know it’s bollocks?” Slocock scoffed. “SHADE has disowned you. All you are to them is a runaway ex-employee who’s had a brain fart and needs to be reined in. Which Nathaniel and I have done. You could regard this as us doing our civic duty, making a citizen’s arrest. I can see the headlines: ‘MP And Billionaire Nab Mad Vamp Cop.’ That’s got to swing a few extra thousand votes my way, come the election. Not that I need them.”

  “Except you aren’t arresting me, are you?” said Redlaw. “It’s gone too far for that. You’re going to kill me.”

  “That hasn’t been decided yet,” said Lambourne. “There’s still a chance for you, if you agree to play ball.”

  “You know I’ll never do that.”

  “We’re waiting for someone to arrive who might be able to convince you otherwise.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll see. Won’t be long.”

  Redlaw processed this piece of information. He had a suspicion he knew who Lambourne was talking about, and prayed to God he was wrong.

  “Where’s Illyria?” he asked.

  “Ah, the luscious but somewhat intimidating Illyria,” said Slocock. “Your raven-haired vampiress friend.”

  “We were watching from a safe distance while she was fighting Vlad,” said Lambourne. “Quite the hellcat. There were moments when I wondered if she might not actually win. The odds were stacked against her, but she did well.”

  “Where. Is. She?”

  “Not dusted, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Slocock.

  “Not yet,” added Lambourne.

  “Unless you’re keeping her buried under ten feet of concrete somewhere,” Redlaw said, “neither of you is safe.”

  “Oh, I think we’re fine.” Lambourne nodded to Slocock. “Giles? Would you do the honours?”

  “Of course, Nathaniel.”

  Slocock tipped back Redlaw’s chair and dragged it, and him, over to the parapet.

  “There. See?”

  Down in the pit, Illyria lay prone, motionless. The manacles were fastened round her wrists. Her clothing was clotted with dust—the remains of Vlad.

  “Those shackles held Vlad,” Lambourne said. “They’ll hold her. And should they not, there’s always the guns. See those electronic eyes positioned about a metre down? Motion sensors. If anything bigger than a moth passes through that, the guns automatically open fire. A thousand Fraxinus rounds a minute from each. She won’t be dusted—she’ll be puréed.”

  “Do anything to her,” Redlaw said, ferociously, “anything at all, and I will kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Woo-ooh!” said Slocock on a rising and falling note, in the manner of a gloating child. “Can it be you’ve got feelings for her? The great Redlaw’s fallen for a vampire? Surely not.”

  Redlaw refused to dignify that with an answer. He realised, to his chagrin, that there might be a grain of truth in it.

  “Mind you,” the politician went on, “if I was going to do the dirty deed with a vamp, Illyria’s the one I’d do it with. I mean, if necrophilia’s your thing, might as well make sure it’s with a looker.”

  “You aren
’t fit to lick her boots,” Redlaw growled.

  “Does she make you do that? Is that how it is? She does have that air about her, doesn’t she, the whole alpha-female, ball-buster vibe.”

  “Now, now, Giles,” Lambourne chided. “Stop being mean. The poor man’s having a hard enough time as it is without you making it worse. Mr Redlaw, Giles and I need to pop out to meet our guest. We’ll leave the two of you alone for a while. Not for long.” He consulted his watch, a Patek Philippe with an alligator strap, worth the price of a medium-sized house. “Quarter of an hour at most. Enjoy your last few minutes together. And please don’t try anything funny. We’ll be right outside, and I have this”—he held up Redlaw’s Cindermaker—“and no qualms about using it if the situation demands.”

  He descended the stairs, Slocock in tow. No sooner had the door clicked shut below than Redlaw canted his head over the parapet and hissed, “Illyria. Illyria! Wake up.”

  She stirred. Moaned softly.

  “Illyria, please. You have to wake up.”

  She rolled her head round. Her face was a puffy mass of contusions, so severely bruised it resembled an aubergine in places. She opened one eye.

  “Redlaw?” she croaked.

  “Illyria, listen to me. Lambourne’s got you chained up. You have to break free somehow. Shatter the manacles, yank the bolts out of the floor, whatever you can. But you have to do it right now, or we’re both as good as dead.”

  “Can’t,” she said. “Can’t move. Hurts too much.”

  “You have to. You have to move.”

  She tried her best to rise up, but it was like the tottering efforts of a newborn foal, feeble and pathetic. Even simply tugging on the chains from a lying position proved beyond her.

  “It’s hopeless,” she said.

  “No. No, it’s not. It’s not hopeless.”

  “You come down here and do something about it then.”

  “I can’t. The guns. But there must be a cut-off switch for them somewhere. If I can just...”

  Redlaw had another go at his bonds, but the flex was knotted tight and well, and the knots themselves were too high up his wrists for his fingers to reach. He jumped the chair up and down on the floor a few times, thinking he might be able to loosen a screw, perhaps even break the whole thing apart. No luck. The chair was teak and tubular steel, a sturdily constructed piece of office furniture.

  “No,” he said finally, defeated.

  “What’s... What’s going to happen?”

  “We’re going to figure out a way out of this, that’s what.”

  “No, Redlaw. Really. What’s Lambourne going to do with us?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No lies, Redlaw. The honest truth.”

  He wrestled with it, then said, “Me, I’m not sure. But you—I think he plans to use the machine guns to dust you.”

  A brief silence from Illyria, then: “Oh.”

  “He won’t, though. Not while there’s breath in my body. I won’t let him.”

  “How very noble of you, Redlaw.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know. And I appreciate it. We haven’t known each other very long, have we?”

  The sudden shift in her tone, from sardonic to sanguine, told him the direction Illyria was taking the conversation in. He didn’t want to travel that route with her. Couldn’t bear to.

  “A couple of nights, is it?” she said.

  “Bit more than that. Three days, two nights.”

  “But we can’t count the two days, can we? Only the nights. So, not long. But we’ve done a lot together. Been through a lot.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s been fun, in a weird kind of way. You’re a cantankerous, pompous old poop, but beneath it all you’ve a stout heart and even a sense of humour. I like you. I could have really liked you, had things been different, had we had more time.”

  “I doubt it. The longer someone spends with me, the less appealing I become. Only Leary could stand me, and she said that was only possible by ignoring me half the time.”

  “Deflect all you want, but I’m still going to say my piece,” Illyria said. “You are a good man, John Redlaw. You may have stopped realising it, you may have lost your way somewhat, but you are. God chose wisely when he chose you to be one of his agents on earth.”

  “But you don’t believe in—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Not the point. Now, as I’m not going to survive this, but you might, I want you to promise me one thing.”

  “What?” He should have said, Name it. Too late. What? would have to do.

  “Promise me you’ll continue to defy Lambourne and all the other bastards like him. Fart up all their noses.”

  “Of course I will. Of course.”

  “But specifically,” Illyria said, “promise you’ll defend vampires from his kind, and from anyone who means them harm. Vampires can’t help being what they are. They’re victims too, much as the people they prey on are victims. If I’ve learned anything being a shtriga, it’s not to blame them for their behaviour. Curb them, control them, by all means. Cull where necessary. But have compassion for them as well. The great majority of vampires never asked to be bitten and turned. Always remember that.”

  Redlaw thought of the Sunless he had saved from those Stokers just three nights ago, before all this madness began, before everything went haywire—the not-long-turned Hungarian boy. Perhaps he had already started to become the person Illyria was asking him to be. He’d taken the first steps of his own accord, and there wasn’t far to go to complete the transition.

  “They’re slaves of their appetites,” she said. “They need a firm hand, and someone to defend them.”

  “You’re asking me to be a shtriga.”

  “I am. A human one. If you can.”

  “I’m not sure I—”

  “Just promise it,” Illyria said. “You don’t have to mean it. Cross your fingers or whatever. But I need to hear it from you.”

  “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  “Then don’t. Sorry I asked.” Not bitter. Just disappointed.

  Redlaw said nothing for a while. Then, with resolve: “All right. You’ve got it. I will.”

  “Thank you, Redlaw.”

  “John.”

  “Ah, now I get to be on ‘John’ terms with you. Finally.”

  “I tell you what, I’d much rather that than ‘old bean.’”

  “You don’t like ‘old bean’?”

  “No.”

  She laughed, painfully. “It’s not rather endearing in its archaic-ness?”

  “No. Just annoying.”

  “Nice of you to tell me that,” she said, “now it’s too late to be of any use. John...”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s been good knowing you.”

  Again Redlaw said nothing for a while, this time because he found it hard to speak.

  “Come on,” Illyria chided gently. “Don’t be sad for me. I’ve had a very long life and I’ve managed to keep my looks. How many others can say that? I’ve travelled, seen and done so much. I was granted abilities most can only dream of, and I’ve revelled in them. I don’t regret anything, except that you and I didn’t meet under other circumstances, John, beneath kinder stars. And I’m not scared of what’s coming, not in the slightest. I’m not saying that to be brave. It’s true. There’s nothing on the other side of death, and that’s fine with me. That’s how it should be.”

  “There is, though,” said Redlaw.

  “So you believe. I believe different. Let’s hope I’m going to be pleasantly surprised. But if not, so what? I’ve made the most of the decades I’ve had. I haven’t wasted them. I haven’t allowed myself to become jaded. That, I think, is the best anyone can say about themselves, at the end of it.”

  The door clicked open. Footfalls on the stairs grew louder. Three sets.

  Lambourne emerged first into the viewing gallery. Then Slocock.

  Following them...

 
; “You,” said Redlaw.

  Commodore Macarthur.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  She studied Redlaw for a good length of time, lips pursed, eyes pitying.

  Eventually she said, “John. Oh, God, John. Look at you. What it’s come to? I gave you every chance, you know. Every chance in the world. I did my level best to steer you away from this vendetta of yours, get you back on course. But you just wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t be told. You ploughed on, getting yourself deeper and deeper in ’til you were past the point of no return. I was helping you, I was trying to save you, but you were too obstinate, too blinkered, to see that.”

  “Helping?” In Redlaw’s voice, contempt and despondency vied for control. He felt as though he had been gut-punched, and yet, deep down, he was somehow unsurprised. He should have known. Perhaps in some obscure way he had known, but had refused to acknowledge it. “How did you help, exactly? By hindering me at every turn? Sacking me? Having me arrested?”

  “By trying to stop you pursuing Lambourne,” Macarthur said. “By keeping you from making the biggest mistake of your life: getting on the wrong side of an enemy you haven’t a hope of defeating. I didn’t discourage you at the start, because I didn’t think you’d get very far. But you were so persistent, so determined, after a while I felt I had to take drastic steps. I wanted to prevent precisely this—you ending up at his mercy, with everything you hold dear taken from you and your life in tatters. Whatever I’ve done I did for you, John, for your own good. Although, obviously, it wasn’t enough.”

  “Drastic steps. Presumably that included sending me into that Sunless nest alone, knowing there were dozens of them there.”

  She nodded. “I had a pretty good idea how infested that business unit was. I’d visited it myself not long earlier, nosed around the outside and made plenty of noise. I rattled the cage so the vamps would be on the alert, expecting trouble, when you turned up.”

  “I could have been killed.”

  “No, not you, John,” Macarthur replied calmly. “Not with your skills. And I sent backup, didn’t I? Didn’t reckon on you getting hurt, mind. All I was after was reminding you of what you were supposed to be doing. I wanted you to get your head back in the game, to remember what being a shady is all about. You’d lost sight of that.”