‘Commendation?’ Buchanan stared at Christabel who was, Kingsley decided, doing a fine job of keeping a straight face. ‘Commendation. Of course.’
Congreve-Knollys tapped the table with a finger. ‘And now, with that news I’m sure I’m in a position to share some with you.’ He coughed. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, but your father and his companion have been taken by the Immortals.’
TWENTY-SIX
‘They never reached the Hebrides,’ Buchanan went on, ‘their professed destination. They were abducted from a house in St John’s Wood.’
Kingsley hardly heard him through his shock. He immediately wanted to leap to his feet and go to help his father, even though he knew he didn’t know where to start. His legs actually trembled, not through fear but through the frustration of not being able to act.
Congreve-Knollys smiled a little. Kingsley wanted to hit him. ‘It appears as if our romantic pair abandoned their trip to the Hebrides. They lingered around Luton for a few days, then came back to London and set up in St John’s Wood.’
‘You couldn’t know any of this if you weren’t monitoring them,’ Evadne said. She shot Kingsley a sympathetic look.
‘A lovely villa, it is,’ Congreve-Knollys said. ‘Charming, really; quite private, with a well-established garden. Discreet neighbourhood.’
‘Far too insecure. A bad choice,’ Buchanan said. ‘The Immortals’ creatures simply battered down the front door and carried off Mrs Winter bound and gagged.’
Kingsley took several deep breaths to control himself and was still unable to speak properly. He saw that Evadne understood. She pointed at Congreve-Knollys. ‘Your people, the ones who were monitoring Dr Ward and Mrs Winter. Did they simply watch this happen? Or are you merely guessing about this abduction?’
A detail hit Kingsley over the head and the fact that it was threatening to rifle his pockets finally stung him into speech. ‘Wait – you said that they carried off Mrs Winter. What about my father?’
Congreve-Knollys put his hands together. ‘It was he who told our operatives what had happened. Apparently he was stunned, or injured, or something of that kind by these Spawn creatures. They then seized Mrs Winter and fled. He set off after them on foot, roaring like a gorgon. Our people stopped him, he gabbled an account of what had transpired, then he knocked one of our men to the ground and ran off. He hasn’t been seen since.’
Kingsley couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride. Dr Ward wouldn’t have been content to stand around and explain the situation to an Agency officer. ‘So the Immortals weren’t after him. They were after her.’ Kingsley rubbed his forehead. ‘When did this all happen?’
‘Last night,’ Buchanan said. ‘We have our best people on it.’
Since Christabel was sitting right there, Kingsley doubted that very much. He sat back, unutterably weary and needing sleep, but nevertheless thinking hard. Saving humanity and saving his foster father now amounted to the same thing: finding the Immortals.
‘We’re doing what we can,’ Congreve-Knollys said. He stood. ‘And we’ll continue to do just that.’
Buchanan was on his feet as well. ‘We’ll keep you informed if we hear anything. You’ll do the same?’
‘Could we do any less?’ Evadne said.
Congreve-Knollys led the way, with Buchanan directly behind him. Christabel followed. Before she went through the doorway, she turned and spread her arms in mute apology. With a snap of his wrist, Kingsley spun the playing card like a horizontal propeller. It whipped through the air and a startled Christabel caught it in one hand. She glanced at it, grinned, pocketed the card and gave the thumbs up before exiting.
‘Nicely done, Kingsley.’ Evadne stood and adjusted her sleeves.
‘I’m glad my misspent youth wasn’t so misspent after all.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
Two fretful hours later, with night staking its claim, Kingsley and Evadne were lingering in Wood Lane, in the shadows of the great Olympic stadium.
‘Yes,’ Evadne said in response to Kingsley’s question, ‘I’m sure she’ll come. And that’s possibly the hundredth time you’ve asked.’
He straightened. ‘Here she is.’
Christabel Hughes hurried out of the Underground station and stood for a moment. She spied them as they began waving.
‘Sorry!’ she said brightly as she bounced up to them. ‘I had the devil of a time separating myself from Congers and Buckers.’
Buckers and Congers? The unlikeliness of these nicknames made Kingsley grin. It made them sound like a music hall act of the more dubious sort. ‘Welcome to our cabal. Evadne, do you have a blindfold?’
‘Whatever for?’ Evadne said.
‘I thought it customary when ushering a stranger to a secret refuge.’
‘A stranger, perhaps. But, as you just pointed out, Christabel is now part of our cabal, a secret society of three working to defeat the Immortals.’ She took Christabel by the hand. ‘This way.’
‘They were all business were they, your superiors, after we left?’ Kingsley asked Christabel as they negotiated the passage under the stadium. ‘Back to the grindstone, handing out tasks?’
‘Not likely,’ Christabel said. She looked about with great interest as Evadne unlocked a door that was marked ‘Dangerous Electrical Installation’ but opened onto a set of stairs leading downwards. ‘They were all self-congratulatory – I can’t imagine what for – and wanted to go out for a late dinner. The three of us. Together.’ She shuddered. ‘Congers probably wanted to tell me about the knighthood he’s been promised after he fixes the Agency.’
‘Ah. I didn’t think he was doing the job out of altruism,’ Kingsley said.
‘He desperately wants the royal tap on the shoulder.’ Christabel snorted. ‘He’s always going on about how all his school chums have been knighted and how he’s sick of being overlooked. I couldn’t think of anything worse than listening to it again. I pleaded that I had some reports to write up.’
‘They believed you?’ Evadne unlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs. It opened onto a tunnel narrow enough to make Kingsley stoop. Evadne found an electrical lantern on the floor and switched it on.
‘There are always reports to write up,’ Christabel said, following her. ‘Those who say we don’t achieve anything at the Agency don’t know what they’re talking about. We achieve absolutely gigantic mountains of paperwork. None finer, I’d say.’
They reached the end of the tunnel. A heavy slab of steel stood in their way, filling the tunnel completely. ‘Welcome to my home,’ Evadne said to Christabel with a flourish and an elaborate bow.
Once inside, Kingsley and Evadne gave Christabel time to recover from her astonishment. She stood in the armoured entrance area until she finally stopped goggling and instead stared at Evadne. ‘You built this? All of it?’
‘Personally? Not all of it. I hired help, but the plans were mine.’
‘You haven’t shown her all of it,’ Kingsley admonished. ‘Take her to the armoury. And the workshop.’
‘Here,’ Evadne said. ‘I’ll give you the full tour.’
Kingsley busied himself making tea. ‘She’s a wonder,’ Christabel said to Kingsley when they entered the small kitchen twenty minutes later. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘I second that motion,’ Kingsley said. ‘Here. A good Keemun, I believe.’
‘My favourite.’ Evadne took the cup and saucer and led Christabel to the parlour, where Kingsley joined them. He slumped into an armchair, tired and grateful for its comfort.
‘Christabel,’ Evadne said. ‘We need your help again.’
‘If it’s anything like today, count me in. It was a lark.’
‘We’re afraid that what we’re asking might put you in the bad books with your superiors,’ Kingsley said. ‘The even badder books.’
She shrugged. ‘What can they do? Sack me? No great loss there. I’ll get another job nipping between the Demimonde and the overworld. Maybe for one of those univ
ersities. Or I might go overseas and see how things work over there.’
‘Much the same as here,’ Evadne said, ‘except in a different language.’
‘Sounds like fun. Now, you asked me here – what for?’
Kingsley and Evadne looked at each other until Kingsley took the lead. ‘After our narrow escape in Lambeth, we suspect that some assistance could be required if we encounter the Immortals again.’
Christabel sipped her tea. ‘Go on.’
‘Can you and your unit be on alert, if we need you?’
‘You want us to come if you call? Might be a bit difficult, that, since we occasionally have Agency duties to perform. That paperwork won’t do itself, you know.’
Evadne put her cup on her saucer. ‘We were hoping, after today’s commendation, that your roving brief could be extended. For instance, acting on your initiative, you may have to plunge into the Demimonde to investigate something or other. That would keep you away from their orders, wouldn’t it?’
‘That could work, especially if I tell Congers and Buckers that I’m hot on the heels of the Immortals.’ She frowned. ‘How will you let me now if we’re needed? If I were at the Agency you could use the telephone, but things are a bit harder out there in the Demimonde.’
Evadne picked up her teaspoon. She rapped it on the table in a short, staccato rhythm. Kingsley steeled himself so that only the mildest expression of distaste crossed his face when the furry shape burst through the doorway and ran circles at Evadne’s feet.
‘That’s an unusual-looking rat,’ Christabel said, and Kingsley had to admire her sang-froid.
‘It’s not a rat,’ Evadne said patiently. ‘It’s one of my myrmidons. They were once rats, but with some work they’ve become much more than that. They are perfect messengers and will find you wherever you are in the Demimonde.’
Christabel reached down a hand. The myrmidon stopped, looked up at Evadne, then scurried over to enjoy an ear-scratch from someone who knew what she was doing.
Kingsley didn’t shudder – not very much.
‘You made this?’ Christabel said to Evadne.
‘This one, and its cousins.’
Christabel grinned at Kingsley. ‘I hope you realise just how much of a wonder she is, and how lucky you are.’
‘She’s the best partner anyone could wish for,’ Kingsley said, and when the two young women looked at him oddly he was forced to examine his own words – and immediately thought he had only a few chances left to prove that all young men weren’t buffoons.
‘I trust her,’ Evadne said when Christabel had left.
Kingsley picked up the teacups and put them on a tray ready for washing. ‘She doesn’t have the taint of the Spawn about her, at least.’
‘The taint of the Spawn,’ Evadne repeated. ‘What is that? An ingredient in a recipe? “A pinch of salt and just a taint of Spawn”?’
He picked up the tray. ‘It’s just something I’ve noticed more of late. I can smell the Spawn. It’s distinctive.’
‘And what’s it smell like?’ Evadne took her sabre from the umbrella stand near the steel door and moved into a hanging guard position before whipping into a parry and then, blindingly, a horizontal belly cut.
‘Ghastly. Dead and rotten.’
Evadne stopped her lunge and thrust. ‘Thank you. I’m enlightened, but I don’t know if I’m better off for it.’ She re-sheathed the sabre. ‘I want to check the electrical windows to see if we have a report yet. I’ll help dry the dishes later.’
Kingsley was putting away the last saucer when Evadne came back. ‘You look troubled.’ He hung the tea towel on the rack by the stove. ‘I take it we don’t have a report yet.’
‘It’s more than that. I should be able to see the inside of the dodecahedron at least, even if it’s dark, but I can’t.’
‘Nothing? What’s that mean?’
Evadne opened a drawer and took out three teaspoons. She began arcing them from hand to hand. Kingsley was about to point out that he’d just dried them and she’d leave smeary fingermarks, but he decided that the juggling was important – it seemed to soothe her when troubled.
‘My communication apparatus has a limit,’ she said. ‘Twenty miles, more or less. It doesn’t extend much beyond that.’
‘That’s a huge area.’
‘Exactly. I assumed the Immortals would relocate somewhere in London. But what if they haven’t?’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘That’s not the worst of it. Kingsley, I have a confession.’
Kingsley’s breath caught in his throat. ‘You do?’
Evadne’s noble face was miserable and Kingsley’s heart went out to her as she said, ‘I don’t have an alternative plan.’
The rest of the night was spent watching and waiting in front of the bank of electrical windows. Eventually, Kingsley thought he could be doing something other than sitting so he found a walking stick, located the appropriate pages in the old edition of Pearson’s Magazine he’d come across on his previous visit and ran through a series of defensive positions while keeping an eye on the blank window. He was practising at ‘Another Way to Avoid being Hit by Retiring out of Range of your Adversary’s Stick’ when Evadne asked him to stop. Thereafter, he confined himself to running through his range of flourishes, cuts, forces and fans, hardly looking as his fingers turned through the familiar movements.
Evadne sat like a statue, knees drawn up almost to her chin, apart from one hand, which hung over the arm of the wooden chair and kept three brass cubes looping, looping, looping.
When the cubes clattered on the floor, Kingsley was there immediately to catch the sleeping Evadne before she fell. With hardly an effort, he took her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom. He removed her spectacles, took off her boots, covered her with a blanket, shut the door behind him, made a cup of tea and resumed his watch.
As the hours wore on, he was more and more like a wolf – not quite asleep, not quite awake, resting in that state of awareness where any flicker from the blank and ominous electrical window would rouse him. Drifting, he tried not to worry about his foster father, an army of magical slaves and the loss of his own past.
Kingsley gently shook Evadne’s shoulder. She groaned, sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Any news?’
He handed her spectacles to her. ‘I think we have a messenger.’
Kingsley had seen the furry creature on one of the electrical windows that showed the approaches to Evadne’s refuge. Slightly longer than the usual myrmidon, and rather bulkier, this one reminded Kingsley of a ferret who had given up and really gone downhill. As it neared, keeping to the shadows of a service shaft to the west of the refuge, it waddled instead of scurrying, often stopping as if to draw breath.
He took Evadne to the window room and pointed. ‘There.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Evadne breathed.
Kingsley knew that Evadne loved her myrmidons. He appreciated their utility while never warming beyond a wary tolerance. He was certain that if one ever leaped into his lap while he was reading, a scene of considerable agitation would follow, replete with cries of ‘Eeerugh!’ and ‘Getoffgetoffgetoff!’
Evadne rushed out of the window room and across to the workshop. He followed as she hurried to the rear wall. A heavy grate was set there, covering a six-inch pipe outlet. Evadne seized the massive lever next to the grate and, throwing all her weight onto it, heaved it down. She was rewarded by four consecutive, dull thuds, the last being nearest, and then the grate shot up.
A blunt, three-eyed head poked out of the pipe. It half-swarmed half-tumbled onto the floor.
Evadne scooped up the myrmidon. If she had cooed, Kingsley wouldn’t have been able to contain himself. He would have been forced to say something, probably along the lines of ‘Get it away from your face!’ or ‘Good Lord, those teeth!’ Fortunately, she just looked it in the eyes. ‘It’s Beanie, all right.’
‘Beanie? I didn’t know you had names for them.’
‘I don’t, generally, but Beanie is special. He’s the oldest myrmidon I have.’
‘I thought he was looking a bit long in the . . . A bit grey around the muzzle.’ Kingsley scratched his head. ‘Wasn’t the job a bit dangerous for an old timer?’
‘He might be old, but he’s one of the cleverest. And he is the most experienced.’ She frowned. ‘He’s dreadfully grubby.’
‘I thought that was part of being a rat.’ Kingsley looked at Beanie and for a moment felt envious of the thing. It wriggled in her arms in obvious adoration.
She wagged a finger at the creature. ‘Beanie, you need a bath.’
At the kitchen sink, Evadne dabbed the myrmidon with a wet rag. Kingsley vowed to scour the entire area repeatedly with carbolic soap before it was ever used again.
‘There,’ Evadne said. ‘That’s much better.’ She found a dry cloth under the sink and gently dried the uncomplaining creature.
‘It can lead us to the Immortals, can’t it?’
The myrmidon shook itself and would have jumped off the bench if Evadne hadn’t restrained it. ‘Oh yes,’ Evadne said. ‘Beanie knows where they are, but he doesn’t want us to go.’
‘He doesn’t?’ Kingsley was aware that he’d begun talking of the creature as ‘he’ instead of ‘it’ and he wasn’t entirely happy with the development.
‘It’s dangerous, apparently.’ Evadne sighed. ‘He doesn’t want me to go, really. He’s not too fussed about you.’
Kingsley eyed the creature. He could see that very soon Beanie and he would need to have a little talk.
TWENTY-EIGHT
That night, a woman was brought into the farm. Leetha saw it all, through the window, in the darkness. The woman was taken from a motor vehicle by two of the Spawn creatures she had seen in the Immortals’ secret chamber. Horror struck her as soon as she recognised them and she gripped the bars on the window so hard her hands hurt.
Only a stone’s throw away, across the yard, the woman was bound with ropes, wrapped tightly so she could not move. Cloth was tied across her face so she could neither see nor speak, but she was not fear-crushed like Leetha. She flung herself about and she kicked. It made no difference. The creatures handled her as if she were nothing more than a rolled-up mat. They carried her into the farmhouse and the motor vehicle drove off.
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