The Vanishing Villa: An Inspector Ambrose Story (Inspector Ambrose Mysteries Book 2)

by I H Laking

  Gasquet showed amazing speed as he ran ahead, shouting, “Follow me!” as he disappeared around the corner. As Ambrose and Percy followed close behind him, they saw the Dwarf Mech opening a narrow door in the passage wall. They wasted no time ducking into it, and Gasquet followed, closing the door quickly behind him and slamming a heavy beam down across it. The detectives were confronted by a narrow, circular flight of stairs, and immediately began the steep climb. Footsteps raced up to the door and a scream of rage rang out in the corridor. By the time the footsteps receded into the passage, the detectives and Gasquet were already well on their way up the staircase.

  Up and up they climbed, the circular stairs crumbling beneath their feet. Surely no one has been up here for decades, Ambrose thought, as they ran higher and higher. Gasquet led the way, and behind him Percy was heaving and huffing, puffing like a steam train – still, he bounded up the steps two at a time, such was the fear that gripped his heart. Ambrose couldn’t hear much over the sound of their flight up the stairs, which felt like they went on forever.

  Finally,when Ambrose wasn’t sure how much more he could take, they arrived at a wide balcony that overlooked the Great Hall below. Exhausted from the climb, Percy lay on the ground gasping for air while Ambrose was bent over, catching his breath. As he slowly recovered, Ambrose took in the scene beyond the balcony.

  They were now level with the tips of the trees that were growing out of the ceiling. The base of the tree trunks protruded through massive cracks in the marble ceiling; thick brown sticks contrasted against light pink marble. Ambrose had never seen anything like it.

  In front of Ambrose, the balcony was wide enough to hold a hundred people, as it would have done regularly when the temple was in use. The balcony railing had been worn away with time, and was now only partially whole. It was made of one long piece of marble, which had been cut down into dozens of individual pillars. Workmanship like this was truly a marvel; the only thing that was odd about the railing was the rope coiled around the base of one of the pillars. Ambrose was considering why the rope was there when a hand appeared over the side of the balcony, and the tall young assassin leapt into view.

  “Found you,” the assassin said, smiling his cruel smile.

  Ambrose and Percy rose to their feet, as the assassin pulled his long sword out from across his back. “I cannot fail,” he said solemnly, taking a step towards the detectives. “You will never speak of what you have witnessed.”

  With those words, the assassin swiftly advanced on Ambrose and Percy, but what happened next came as a surprise to everyone. A shout erupted from the stairwell, and a Dwarf Mech came charging out onto the balcony. “Gasquet XII! We found him!” shouted Gasquet, his excitement overriding his fear.

  Gasquet XII jumped straight at the assassin, who deftly stepped to his right and swung his sword down at the small Mech. The blow caught Gasquet XII firmly on his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. For a second he stood there looking down at the blade, which had lodged firmly in his metal casing. He then looked at the assassin, who was still holding tightly onto the sword. Without a word, Gasquet XII twisted his body back and then forwards, causing the sword to swing violently towards the edge of the balcony. The assassin didn’t have time to react, and suddenly he was sailing over the edge of the balcony, screaming for his life. Unfortunately for Gasquet XII, the assassin refused to let go of his blade even as he fell. The sword twisted momentarily in the Dwarf Mech’s body, and then pulled him over the edge too.

  “NO!” shouted Gasquet, as he and the detectives ran to the edge of the balcony. There on the floor below them lay the assassin, sprawled dead on the ground alongside Gasquet XII’s body, which had split in two along its centre. Silence fell on the room. The only thing that moved was the rope the assassin had climbed up, blowing gently in the breeze that was coming from a hallway on the side of the balcony.

  Ambrose turned to Gasquet – he wasn’t sure what to say; Mechs were extremely hardy, and it was nearly impossible to destroy one. Even eliminating most of a Mech’s body wouldn’t destroy its Life-Spark, so Gasquet XII would likely live on.

  “Can you fix him?” Ambrose asked the Dwarf Mech.

  Gasquet looked up, clearly in shock at both the confrontation and the injury of his friend. “We can fix the Mech, yes – but I’m afraid the assassin will not be able to be recovered,” he replied. Ambrose allowed himself a small smile – that at least was a relief.

  The Dwarf Mechs had already begun to assemble downstairs, and were tidying up the chaotic scene – soon it would be like nothing had ever happened in the Great Hall. Gasquet gestured to the detectives, and a moment later they found themselves climbing a much wider staircase that led straight upwards, with no turns or landings. After ten minutes of climbing, they finally reached a large stone door, which Gasquet swung open.

  The party stepped out into a large room that looked a lot like a basement. It was dimly lit by a few gaslamps that illuminated the large amount of property stored in the room. Paintings, ornate carpets and opulent vases lined the walls, while piles of cutlery, bowls and ceramics were stacked all over the place. A path ran through the middle of the piles, leading to what appeared to be a trapdoor, standing between two large white pillars. There was something very familiar about this place, but Ambrose couldn’t quite put his finger on it – it was as if he had been here before, but he couldn’t figure out when. He spotted a writing desk in the corner, and climbed his way over to it, avoiding the mess as dirt crunched beneath his feet.

  When he arrived at the desk, it became clear that someone had actually been living in this space recently. A messy bedroll lay on the ground beside the wooden furniture, and a candle was still burning there, nearing the end of its wick. Ambrose found his eye drawn to a document that lay in the middle of the desk. It was filed with text, and looked rather like a contract.

  As Ambrose skimmed across the lines of text, he realised where they were, and that he was reading the very thing that would tie the case together. He grabbed the paper, folded it as neatly as possible, and tucked it into his jacket. As he walked over to where Percy and Gasquet were waiting by the trapdoor, Ambrose felt a tremendous sense of relief washing over him.

  When Ambrose reached the others, Gasquet pulled a large lever and the trapdoor slowly lifted, revealing a glorious glimpse of dusky daylight. Ambrose breathed in the fresh air – it had never felt so good to be standing under an open sky. Small twinkles of light were visible in the fading daylight – the first stars of the night.

  Percy lifted himself up and gave a startled “Oh!” he turned around and offered his hand to Ambrose, saying, “You’re going to want to see this, Inspector.”

  Ambrose pulled himself up onto the ground outside, and found himself surveying a large area that was filled with dirt and rocks, nearby a brick pathway. For Ambrose, it was no surprise at all.

  They were standing in Francis Finney’s empty compound.

  The detectives found Francis Finney dining at the Gilded Garter. The pub was once again packed with people, many of whom were throwing derisive looks at Francis as he sat sullenly in the corner, eating a cold meal of sausages and mashed potatoes. He perked up at the arrival of the detectives.

  “So, did you find the little blighters?” he asked, stuffing a huge hunk of sausage into his mouth. Ambrose nodded. Francis grinned and helped himself to a hunk of potato, “I knew those little Mechs were trouble. I only ‘ope he didn’t cause you too much hassle,” he said, spluttering flecks of potato back onto the plate as he talked.

  Ambrose couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction at what was about to take place – Francis painted a picture of a man who was supremely in control, but underneath bubbled deep secrets and rumbling anger. Percy nervously looked down at his feet as Ambrose cleared his throat.

  “They didn’t cause us any hassle, Mr Finney. In fact, we’d like to have a few words with you about them if you don’t mind,” Ambrose nodded towards the door. “Best
to talk outside, away from all this noise – it’s hard to hear over this racket.”

  And hard to avoid creating another scene.

  Francis took one last bite of sausage and pushed himself out from the booth. He grabbed his coat and crossed the floor quickly, together with the detectives. They soon found themselves standing outside with the cold air nipping at their faces. The Gilded Garter’s gaslamps flickered in the night air, while Francis breathed on his hands in an attempt to keep them warm.

  “So, what do you need to know?” he asked before exhaling a big puff of steam into the night sky.

  Ambrose looked at Francis. No point in beating around the bush now, he decided.

  “I want to know how you thought you were going to get away with double-crossing so many people,” Ambrose said.

  The smile dropped from Francis’ face. Slowly, it was replaced by a grimace, and anger unlike any he had shown earlier. This time there was no yelling, screaming, or punching. In a voice as calm as still water he simply said, “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your house was never stolen, it never vanished, and it was never a surprise to you that it disappeared,” said Ambrose.

  “In fact, your house was dismantled.”

  Francis didn’t blink. He stared at Ambrose with the quiet rage of a man who was trapped and ready to defend himself with his life.

  “Prove it.”

  And now I have you right where I want you, thought Ambrose.

  “The one thing that you didn’t lie to us about was your business,” Ambrose said. “You were struggling in the construction industry, so you moved into excavation. This was meant to be your salvation, but you only dug up more trouble. It was difficult for you to make money, and you were going to give up, until one day you made a discovery.”

  Ambrose looked over at Percy, who gave a whistle. Out from around the corner walked Gasquet. The look on Francis’ face remained the same, but Ambrose was sure he saw a flicker of worry. If he did recognise Gasquet, Francis was doing a good job of hiding it beneath his anger.

  “You didn’t just search for the Great Central Temple of Light; you found it,” said Ambrose. Again, there was no reaction from Francis.

  “You entered through one of the sealed passages, breaking into a place that had been hidden for decades,” Ambrose continued, “When you saw the state of the temple and the wealth the Dwarf Mechs possessed, you came up with a plan to get your wealth back.”

  Now Francis reacted.

  “You can’t prove that!” he blustered. “These Dwarf Mechs have been loitering around the neighbourhood for weeks – I’ve got witnesses! I don’t know how they did it, but they stole my house. And you can’t prove otherwise!”

  Ambrose nodded. “Yes, I was sure you’d say that. You were banking on the fact that we would find the Dwarf Mechs and arrest them. You figured that we’d trust the word of a fine, upstanding citizen of Traville over the words of some dirty Mechs from the slums. But you didn’t reckon with the fact that we would stumble upon the Temple of Light ourselves. And in there, we found every single stone that was missing from your compound, elephant engravings still intact.”

  Francis had managed to regain his cool, but his bravado refused to let up, even as the evidence mounted against him.

  “So you found evidence that this Mech and his mates did steal my house,” he said, pointing accusingly at Gasquet. “Why aren’t you telling me that you’ve arrested them, and that I can reclaim my property?”

  It was time to deliver the final blows. Ambrose pulled out the piece of paper he had found in Francis’ basement.

  “Well I would have arrested these Mechs if they were guilty. And I had been considering doing just that – until I came across this,” Ambrose waved the paper at Francis. “You couldn’t trust these Mechs, not with such a valuable amount of Lightstone at stake. So naturally, you made a contract.”

  Ambrose unfolded the paper, and read aloud from the top line: “I, Francis Finney, do hereby enter into a contract with the undersigned Mech for delivery of one (1) tonne of Lightstone, to be completed on the week of…” Ambrose stopped reading and looked up at Francis, who was now shaking with anger.

  “It’s a FAKE!” Francis screamed, “And you can’t pro-”

  “It’s not just this contract that’s condemning you,” Ambrose said, cutting Francis off. He had had enough of this; it was time to close the case. “Percy and I were accosted last night by an agent who works for the company that insures your house. On our way here, we dropped by and picked this up,” Ambrose looked over to Percy, who was grinning widely as he held up another folded piece of paper.

  “This is a copy of your home insurance policy,” Percy said. “This week, you went in to claim on your missing villa. With the value of the stone, you were set to make a fortune.”

  Ambrose nodded. “Your greed got the better of you, Francis. It wasn’t enough to have the Mech’s gold; you were going to get a new house out of this too, and land all the blame on the Dwarf Mechs, if we ever found them. All you needed to do was to come up with an excuse to get your wife out of town for a week – there was never any danger of your neighbours finding out what was going on, because you bought their houses a long time ago so they wouldn’t continue to witness your terrible temper.”

  Ambrose drew himself up – he towered over Francis in the dim light. “Francis Finney, I hereby place you under arrest for fraud, false accusation, and the assault of a detective,” he said, looking over at Percy, who was still grinning away. “Have you got anything to say for yourself?” Ambrose asked Francis.

  Francis didn’t wait to answer. As quick as he could, he bolted in the opposite direction, down the hill towards the slums. He had only made it a short way before he was met by five small Mechs that came charging out of a side street. As they knocked him to the ground and pinned him down, Francis screamed in rage, with a tirade of the foulest language spilling from his mouth as he realised he had been caught out. Ambrose and Percy hurried over to formally arrest Francis and take him down to the Central Station.

  Francis struggled with Percy as the big man hauled him to his feet. He continued to swing his legs wildly, since his arms were now restrained by the tight shackles Percy had put on them. One of the Mechs ran up and delivered a swift kick to Francis’ shin, and he let out a howl of pain. His struggling stopped, but his resolve to not be beaten continued. He glared at Ambrose as he stood in the cold, puffing and panting from his attempted escape.

  “Fine, you win. I hope you feel proud, the great Inspector Ambrose completing the case once again!” he spat on the ground in front of him. “Well you know what? When I get back from my punishment, I’ll go straight down to the temple and claim what’s mine again. I’ll do it, and you can’t stop me. You can’t watch me forever.”

  Ambrose nodded slowly. “You could do that if you wanted to, but you should know that others apart from Percy and I have now discovered the temple’s existence.”

  Francis looked surprised as Ambrose continued. “The Assassin’s Guild appears to have an interest in the temple now – we saw them investigating it while we were there. So by all means, feel free to explore down there anytime, just be aware that you may make some powerful enemies if you do; you know how they don’t appreciate common people meddling in their affairs.”

  For the first time, Francis looked genuinely afraid. It was as if the realisation that he had failed was only now dawning on him. Tears began to fill his eyes.

  That night ended with another peculiar sight on the streets of Traville. Two detectives, One tall and well-kempt, the other fat and red like a beet, surrounded by a handful of Dwarf Mechs as they led one of the city’s richest men through the streets as he wailed and sobbed, cursing and spluttering, all the way to the Central Station of the Citizen Protection Force.

  When they finally reached the Central Station, Percy marched Francis inside, and Ambrose was left alone outside with the Mechs for some final words. They were excitedly chattering away ab
out the events of the evening. Ambrose smiled and knelt down to talk with Gasquet.

  “What will you do now?” he asked the Dwarf Mech.

  Gasquet shrugged. “We’ll go back to maintaining the temple, I suppose. When the founder left, he gave us strict instructions not to seek anyone out, but to look after it until he returned.”

  Ambrose nodded. The presence of the Assassin’s Guild would spell trouble for the Mechs, especially since one of their young assassins had now mysteriously disappeared in the temple.

  “I’d like to keep in touch with you to make sure the assassins aren’t causing you trouble. Will you let me know when they come back?” Ambrose asked.

  “Sure thing!” Gasquet smiled, “We’ll be watching for them, and you’ll be the first to know.”

  Then with a tide of bouncing and cheering, the Mechs said goodbye. There were many handshakes and waves as they walked off into the cold night, down towards the riverbank and their hidden Temple. Ambrose watched until they were out of view, then he turned on his heel and walked into the station.

  It was early the next morning, and Ambrose was standing on a balcony at the Central Station, looking out over the crowd in the square below. Children played with loose cobblestones, whilst men in heavy coats and suits discussed business and current affairs. Occasionally an unkempt beggar would accost a passer-by asking for money.

  All these people are completely unaware of what’s just underneath their feet, Ambrose thought to himself. But in his mind, something else troubled him. The Assassins Guild was up to something, and he couldn’t help but sense a rising tide was coming, a tide that would shake the very foundations of the Empire. As these thoughts ran through Ambrose’s mind, he noticed a tall, wiry man wearing a black hooded cape standing in the centre of the square. Ambrose couldn’t be sure, but he had the funny feeling that the man was staring at him from underneath his drawn up hood.