The Londum Omnibus Volume Two (The Londum Series Book 12)

by Tony Rattigan

  ‘That says it’s a Royal Pardon for any and all crimes committed up to the date that it was signed. It was issued for services to the country, I might add.

  ‘That is King Victor’s signature.

  ‘And that is the date that it was issued which, as you can see, is after the Hetheringham Manor robbery. That means that I’ve been pardoned for that particular crime amongst others, and consequently my confession to you means nothing. Sorry Inspector, you can’t touch me.’

  Inspector Corner’s moustache began twitching furiously and he spluttered, ‘It, it can’t be ... it’s a fake, it must be a fake.’

  ‘Do you really think I would ask my solicitor to bring along a document like that, if it wasn’t genuine? And do you think I’d confess to a crime if I didn’t have a way out of it? Now, you may think it’s a fake, but I strongly urge you to go and get it checked out because if you ignore it ... or even worse, destroy it, you’ll find yourself in a world of trouble for ignoring a Royal Pardon. Listen carefully Inspector, that gurgling noise you hear is your career circling the plug-hole. It’s up to you whether it goes down or not. Choose carefully,’ Jim threw his words back at him.

  Corner said nothing but Jim could see him getting redder and redder. Finally he stood up, snatched up the pardon off the table and stormed out of the room. Jim smirked at the thought of what this was doing to Corner’s blood pressure.

  Jim really had taken to heart what Nurse Phipps had said about the dangerous life he was leading and how one day he would be caught out by someone like Inspector Corner, and then there would be no one to look out for young Sarah Bowen. So that was why he had insisted on the Royal Pardon as part of his payment for the mission. He had served his country before, in Pils-Holstein, playing his part in disposing of the ruling werewolf family, which was immensely helpful to Albion’s interests in Europe. And now this little job, preventing a world war. Jim reckoned they owed him for those and fortunately ‘The Powers that Be’ agreed.

  He looked at Mr. Roper and smiled, ‘I’ll see if I can get us some lunch, while we wait.’

  ***

  Many hours later Corner returned to the interview room. He placed the Royal Pardon gently on the table, being very careful not to damage it. ‘It’s genuine,’ he admitted in a shocked voice. ‘It’s real. How the hell did you get a pardon from King Victor himself?’

  ‘For services to the country,’ replied Jim, taking up the pardon and handing it to Mr. Roper for safe keeping.

  ‘What sort of services?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to say, I’m afraid. But a word of advice, Inspector, just remember this next time you judge someone by how they look on the outside. You never know who they really are or what they really do. Now, am I free to go?’

  ‘Yes. Constable, see Mr. Darby to the desk Sergeant and release him will you? No charge. And you remember something too, Mr. Darby, that pardon is only valid for crimes in the past. Anything from now on and you’re fair game.’

  ‘Touché, Inspector. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my tools back.’

  Inspector Corner took the leather case out of his pocket and handed it over, begrudgingly.

  ‘And now, good day to you,’ said Jim and walked out of the interview room followed by Mr. Roper.

  ***

  Jim, Angela Phipps and young Sarah sat in the beer garden of the Laughing Cow pub, the local hostelry of Strapley-on-the-Wold. They had been staying there while they looked at a house in the village.

  After dealing with Inspector Corner and getting that business out of the way, Jim had taken Thornton up on his generous offer to introduce him to Sir Harold Ingleby, the local squire of Strapley-on-the-Wold. Squire Ingleby had let Jim know of a three-bedroomed cottage that would shortly be on the market. The present owners rented it out as a holiday cottage to folks lucky enough to be able to escape from Londum for the summer. But the owners were getting on a bit and tiring of looking after the place, they sought a buyer.

  Sir Harold had let Jim know of the upcoming vacancy and he and the other two had come down to Strapley-on-the-Wold to check it out. They had all fallen in love with ‘Meadow View Cottage’, as it was everything you would expect from a cottage in a country village. A view of the fields, as suggested by the name, ivy around the door, white picket fences protecting a garden with rosebushes, and only a ten minute walk from the centre of Strapley. It was ideal and the gardens front and back were not too large for a single woman to cope with. Besides, Jim would make sure they had enough money to hire a gardener.

  After the viewing, they had retired to their accommodation for lunch while they decided whether to buy the place or to keep looking. True, it had been the only place they had seen so far but ... it was so perfect for everyone’s needs. The price was not a problem for Jim, he could afford to buy the place (even if he had to pay over the odds to get it) he knew Sarah would be happy to get out of the orphanage and live there instead, the only one who might be against it was Angela. It was a lot he was asking her to do, leave Dr. Barnato’s and be Sarah’s governess for the rest of her life.

  ‘So then,’ said Jim, ‘are we all agreed?’

  ‘Yes, yes, please can we buy it?’ begged Sarah.

  He looked at Angela; she was still mulling it over as it was a life-changing decision for her and not to be taken lightly. So he sipped his wine and waited patiently for her to make her mind up. ‘Yes,’ she said, finally. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘Okay then, I’ll tell them this afternoon and then Mr. Roper can draw up the paperwork.’

  ‘But what if they don’t want to sell it to you?’ asked Angela.

  ‘Look, Squire Ingleby said they want to sell it, so I’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse. If necessary I’ll just offer them a ridiculous amount of money. I’m sure they’ll accept.’

  Jim held his glass up and the other two clinked their glasses against his, in toast. ‘To Meadow View Cottage,’ he said.

  ‘To Meadow View Cottage!’ they echoed.

  ‘And now Sarah, I have some more good news for you. Do you know what a judge is?’

  ‘Sure, he’s the man that sends people to prison.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ conceded Jim, ‘but that’s not all he does. While I was away my solicitor, Mr. Roper, went to court and he spoke to a very nice judge, who agreed that it isn’t right that a pretty little girl like you should have to live in an orphanage. So he said that if there was someone who would take legal charge of that girl, then he would let her leave the orphanage and live somewhere better. And Mr. Roper told them that I was a nice man and the judge said in that case, that I could look after you then.’

  ‘You mean ... I can leave the orphanage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And will you be my Dad?’

  ‘Not exactly, I’ll be your legal guardian, which means I’ll be responsible for you. But it also means I can tell you off when you’re naughty,’ he cautioned her.

  ‘So will I be living with you?’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You know me, I’m always going away on business. But I thought that it might be a good idea if you lived here in Meadow View Cottage, you can look after the place for me. Does that sound all right?’

  ‘You want me to live in Meadow View Cottage? By myself? But I’m only ten.’

  ‘No, of course not, silly. Obviously you’ll have someone living with you. You’ll have a governess to look after you. It will be her job to teach how you to read and write and do sums, as well as making sure that you eat properly and go to bed on time, that sort of stuff.’

  Sarah’s face dropped. ‘But she’ll be a stranger. I’ll be on my own with a stranger. What if I don’t like her?’

  ‘I thought of that, so I asked someone that you do know if she’d take the job and she said yes.’

  ‘Nurse Phipps?’ asked Sarah, who was quick enough to have figured it out.

  ‘Nurse Phipps,’ Angela confirmed.

  ‘You’re going to be my governess and we
’re going to live together in Meadow View Cottage? Just the two of us? I can’t believe it, it’s too good to be true.’

  ‘Life can be like that sometimes,’ said Angela, looking at Jim.

  Sarah came around the table and gave Jim a big hug. ‘Uncle Jim, Uncle Jim, I’m so happy.’

  ‘Well, I aim to please. Making girls happy is what I do best.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ said Angela.

  Jim smiled and took a swig of his wine. Well this adventure seems to have ended happily all round, he thought. All the loose ends tied up ... well, except for one, he still owed that favour to Kovach. What trouble was that going to get him in to? But he decided not to worry about it now. If Jim had learned one thing it was to live life in the moment, tomorrow could take care of itself.

  Epilogue

  Budapescht lay shrouded in thick fog, emanating from the River Danube. The fog-horns of the river boats hooted forlornly as if they were crying out for company, on this cold, damp and lonely night.

  Although the oil lamps on the Chain Bridge were lit, they struggled to illuminate more than a few yards in any direction. Beneath one of them stood a young couple, talking, as they looked out onto the Danube, although the fog was too thick to actually see it.

  The man, who was hurrying across the bridge, pulled his coat collar tighter around his neck. What a strange time to meet, he thought to himself, one o’clock in the morning. What was she thinking?

  As he approached the couple in the centre of the bridge, another man stepped out of the fog, on the far side of them, and walked towards him. Already anxious enough, this sudden appearance of a stranger stretched his nerves even tighter. He stopped and turned around but saw yet another man following him.

  This was obviously some sort of trap. He turned to the couple; surely they wouldn’t attack him while the couple were there to witness it? The couple turned round to face him. The man he didn’t know, tall, with a Mediterranean complexion but the woman was all too familiar to him, Marla.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked. ‘I came, as you requested but who are these strangers? What’s going on?’

  The Mediterranean looking man deferred to the lady. ‘Hello Wosnic,’ she said. ‘You are here to answer for your betrayal of me and the network. There is no way that the Rooskians could have known about my meeting with the Albion man unless someone told them. They didn’t have time to follow him and then mount an operation to kidnap me and recover the treaty. They must have already known our meeting schedule. Someone told them and that someone, I have determined was you.’

  ‘But you’re wrong, it wasn’t me,’ claimed Wosnic.

  ‘Don’t try to deny it. It could only have been you. There have been too many things going wrong over the years and the trail of all of them put together, leads back to you. This time you almost got me killed. Well, that was your last time.’ She stepped back and nodded to Domingo, who waved his men forward.

  Wosnic said, ‘No, wait, listen to me ...’ That was as far as he got before the six inches of sharpened steel entering through his back, into his chest cavity, made him lose interest in the proceedings. He sagged and the two men caught him and heaved him over the side of the bridge, to land with a splash below, in the Danube.

  ‘Right lads,’ said Domingo. ‘Away you go.’ The two thugs disappeared quietly into the thick fog. He turned to Marla and smiled at her. ‘Can I interest you in a night-cap? I know a nice little restaurant not far from here. It’s late but we can still get a drink there, I know the owner.’

  Marla smiled back at him and took his arm. ‘Why not?’ As they walked away, arm in arm, into the foggy night, she said to him, ‘You know, Domingo, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’

  THE END

  Foothold

  Book Eleven of The Londum Series

  Copyright © Antony Rattigan 2015

  All rights reserved.

  Once upon a time, private detective Rufus Cobb met the supreme being of the Multiverse, the Creator, who was called ... Jeremy. Before they parted, Jeremy gave him these words of wisdom to remember ...

  ‘Cobb … never trust an Elf!’

  ‘There’s no such thing as Elves, are there?’ Cobb asked him. ‘Even if they weren’t just a myth, surely they died out long ago?’

  ‘They never died out; they just went … somewhere else. One of these days they’re going to want to come back.’

  And now they’re back! They have breached the walls between Universes and, as the last remnants of a dying race, have asked for sanctuary, to escape their own, barren world. The rulers of Cobb’s world are inclined to help but is there something more sinister going on? Mindful of Jeremy’s warning Cobb believes so and tries to warn the authorities but no one will listen until it’s too late.

  And now once again, (thanks to Harlequin) they are calling on Cobb to save the day along with Jim, Adele and King Arthur (yes, I did say King Arthur).

  This could be Cobb’s most dangerous adventure yet (well, apart from the one with the goat and the machine gun, but that’s another story).

  Warning! This book contains flash photography!

  “The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate for the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty and we must rise to the occasion, we cannot escape history. We will be remembered in spite of ourselves. The fiery trial through which we pass will light us down in honour or dishonour to the last generation. We shall nobly save or meanly lose our last, best hope of Earth.”

  Abraham Lincoln.

  Prologue

  The Multiverse is made up of many, many different Universes. In some of those Universes the flow of history will be different to the one that you live in. Civilisations will have risen, mighty empires fallen, and even their timelines will be different. For example, the Industrial Revolution may have happened in the 1600’s and consequently the American War of Independence was lost to superior British air power. Or elsewhere, nuclear cold fusion may have been discovered by the Victorians and now all homes, factories and vehicles are powered by limitless, safe, cheap, nuclear energy.

  Perhaps in your Universe people travel around in flying cars, there are cities beneath the ocean and everyone has a robot to clean the house. (Where’s the personal jet-pack you promised me, ‘Tomorrow’s World’?)

  So let’s take a look now at one of those alternative histories of another Universe, Rufus Cobb’s Universe to be precise, for this is where our story is set and you need to know what came before the story you are about to read because, as they say, “What’s past is prologue.”

  ***

  High on a hill overlooking the steppes, on the western borders of Asya sat Yingist Khan, ruler of one of the greatest empires this world had ever seen. He sat in a tent, on his portable throne, drinking a goblet of wine, surveying his vast Mongol horde arrayed on the plains below.

  (Can we still say Mongol? Is it politically correct? It’s hard to remember what is acceptable to the PC brigade this week. Well, it will have to do; I can hardly call them his vast “special needs” army can I?)

  But his Mongol army was not alone. Facing them was an equally sized army of Elves. The Elves, who ruled all of Europe, from Briton in the west, Scandinavia in the north, down to Castile in the south, had been trying to force their way east, into Yingist’s territory for some time now and he had decided that enough was enough. It was time for a showdown between the two warrior nations. The irresistible force was about to meet the immovable object.

  Yingist asked, ‘Is it dinnertime yet? I’m starving.’

  The Grand Vizier, the equivalent of a prime minister, who had been raised amongst the nobility of the Cantonese dynasties, felt it was his duty to constantly try to improve his Master’s habits and customs, so he answered, ‘It is mid-day, Your Eternal Mightiness, I think you mean lunchtime.’

  Yingist, who had been born a member of one of the lowly tribes of the steppes, reasoned however that as he was now the Emper
or of all Asya, that was the perfect reason why he shouldn’t have to change his ways and could remain true to his roots, so he replied, ‘Lunch is for southern poofs. I want me dinner!’

  ‘As you command, Oh Great Khan, Mighty Ruler of the Asyan Plains.’ The Vizier clapped his hands and servants brought out a table which they set before the Emperor and filled with plates of food and jugs of wine.

  Yingist swigged some wine and tucked into his goat biryani. Now is the time, he thought. His generals were fully briefed on the plan of battle, his reserves were standing by, his men were not only well trained but battle hardened from the many wars over the years it had taken to establish his empire. ‘Send the signal,’ he ordered his Vizier.

  ‘Certainly, Divine Emperor of the Celestial Warriors.’ The Vizier spoke to the generals that were waiting on the Emperor and one of them walked over to the archer standing by a burning brazier. At an instruction from the general, the archer drew an arrow and notched it in his bow. Dipping the oil-soaked cloth tied to the tip of the arrow into the brazier, it erupted into flame. Drawing the bow back with all his strength, he sent the flaming arrow arcing across the sky.

  When the attack signal was spotted below, all the Mongol commanders stood up in their saddles and waving their swords above their heads, gave the order to charge. As one unit the Mongol army spurred their horses on and charged into battle against their enemy.

  The Elves, both foot soldiers and mounted cavalry, charged forward to meet them. Equally well trained and as vicious as the Mongols, they too were a formidable fighting force and planned to give as good as they got.

  The Mongols had one major advantage though - stirrups! Incredible as it may seem, the invention by the Mongols of stirrups allowed these master horsemen even greater control and stability on horseback, than their opponents. Raised from infancy in the saddle, these Mongol warriors, it seemed, could practically manoeuvre a horse by thought alone, but the advent of stirrups allowed them absolute control of their steed. What had been done previously by judicious use of the reins and pressure from the knees, could now be done by pressing down on the stirrups. This freed up the hands for other things such as firing a bow or swinging a sword. It also gave the rider a sturdy base to allow more accurate and rapid marksmanship.