by Nick Baker
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I don’t,’ replied Lily defiantly. ‘You keep telling me how well my studies are progressing and how far advanced I am. Maybe now’s the time to give me a chance to show you what I can do.’
‘That’s precisely why I don’t want you with me. I doubt you have any idea how much I respect your talents, but it would be extremely foolhardy for us both to go. It’ll be hard enough for me to look out for myself, but if I have to worry about you as well, it could put us both in danger. No, Lily, you must remain here. I fear your time will come sooner than you anticipate.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ she snapped.
Price shrugged his shoulders. ‘Time will tell,’ he said ambivalently.
‘Very well, if that’s the way you’re going to behave, perhaps it’s time for me to do a little digging of my own,’ said Lily, getting up and striding purposefully towards the door. She turned and looked back at her father. ‘I’ve got to get to my lessons. Will I see you before you go?’ she enquired sharply.
‘Of course. Perhaps we could eat together this evening?’
Lily nodded cursorily. She turned quickly on her heels and disappeared down the stairs.
Price sighed. He knew Lily was headstrong but she would calm down. He would counsel her later not to do anything rash while he was away.
He frequently dwelt on his relationship with Lily, but no matter how hard he tried to do the right thing, it always seemed to end in disagreement or, in Lily’s case, disgruntlement. How he wished Saskia was still here. She had always intuitively known how to deal with Lily, but, unfortunately, the same could not be said of him. It was at times like this that he felt most isolated and alone, he reflected ruefully.
He got up to stretch his legs and made his way to a door that opened onto a small balcony, stooping to avoid the wooden beams abutting the steeply sloping roof. He went outside into the cool, early morning air, rising to his full height as he passed through the door. He was wearing a khaki quilted jerkin over a thick, plain white cotton shirt, but it was insufficient to ward him from the chill wind blowing directly from the north. As he surveyed the river in the distance, he pushed aside the troubling conversation with Lily.
The surface of the water was choppy and his eyes were drawn towards a small boat struggling upstream against the tide. The traffic moving in the opposite direction made the boat appear as if it were standing still, but looking beyond it, he could just make out its progress against the backdrop of the buildings on the far bank of the river. After the boat had disappeared from view, he went inside and returned to the desk. As he sat down, his gaze settled once more on the Historoscope. He lifted the instrument from its stand and passed the surprisingly light gadget from one hand to the other while marvelling at the intricate lattice of silver and gold metalwork on its surface that resembled the delicate veins of a leaf.
As he returned the instrument to the desk, he suddenly thought of the surgical process purportedly carried out by the Brotherhood that Natacha had referred to at their meeting. It had jogged his memory of the events that had culminated in Black’s death. Understandably, he had done everything he could to suppress the memory of that fateful evening, but with the Council meeting imminent, it was not something he could ignore any longer. The Council’s support was paramount should his suspicions prove correct, and he was determined to have every fact at his disposal to corroborate his fears of a re-emergence of the Order.
Price lifted the gel cap from the desk and felt a flutter in his chest; anticipation that he was about to revive a memory best left buried, he supposed. With great trepidation, he slipped the cap onto his head, ensuring the protruding electrodes were in contact with his scalp. He closed his eyes and began to concentrate, banishing all extraneous thoughts as he turned his attention to the events of that evening. He picked up the Historoscope and drew the viewfinder to his eye. The curtain of murky blackness soon gave way to pinpricks of light flashing intermittently across the instrument’s small internal screen. When he blinked, an image of countless bright dots had burnt into his retina like a galaxy of stars cast against a midnight sky. Colour gradually intermingled with the tiny white spots, fusing into a blurred but coherent image.
His temples throbbed from the mental exertion of the effort as an uncanny image appeared on the screen displaying him sitting in a high-backed leather chair in the familiar surroundings of the sitting room downstairs. He stared apprehensively at his doppelgänger and was shocked to see his young appearance. The grey that dominated his temples was strikingly absent and his face was free of the lines that stared back at him from the mirror on a daily basis. He took a deep breath and began to watch.
*
Price sat next to an open fire diligently reading, the sound of crackling logs burning in the basket next to him. His face was furrowed in concentration, illuminated by the radiance of the reflected light. He suddenly looked up, startled by a loud spit as a small ember shot from the fire and landed harmlessly in the grate. He stared at the glowing fragment until it faded with the ebbing of its heat.
He returned his attention to the document and remained engrossed in his reading until he was disturbed by the sound of the handle turning in the double oak doors. A tall, elegant young woman, instantly recognisable as Saskia, entered the room and headed towards him. She had shoulder-length, wavy dark hair framing brightly burning blue eyes that made her look strikingly similar to Lily. She crossed the room and placed a hand affectionately on his shoulder while peering down to see what he was reading.
Price looked up and smiled. ‘Lily asleep?’ he whispered.
‘Soundly. I read to her, but as usual, she was fast asleep before I’d finished. What are you up to?’ she asked casually.
‘Nothing much. I’ve been looking at some notes I made a while ago about a book that, I must admit, has always baffled me. I’m afraid I’m none the wiser. Anyway,’ he said, dropping the notebook nonchalantly onto the Persian rug at his feet, ‘there are much more important things to do now,’ he said, standing up and putting his arms around her waist.
Saskia laughed and playfully pushed him away. ‘Look, why don’t we eat out tonight? Mrs Brimstork can keep an eye on Lily. It’s such a beautiful evening. We can go down to Nico’s.’
Price smiled. Nico’s was a cosy Italian restaurant down by the river that was not too far to walk. It also happened to be Saskia’s favourite eating place. He knew how much she enjoyed dining out under the awning, feasting on her favourite dish—a most delicious seafood linguine—in the lee of the adjacent bridge that spanned the brightly illuminated river.
‘There’ll be a frost tonight. It may be quite chilly,’ he warned, knowing how much she enjoyed eating al fresco.
‘Yes, but just think how wonderful the stars will be. Come on, it’ll only take a few minutes to get ready. We can wrap up warm and I’m sure they’ll light the chiminea for us.’
‘How could I refuse!’
Saskia pulled him from the chair and propelled him playfully through the door.
‘You can tell Mrs Brimstork we won’t be eating in tonight,’ he declared as they spilt into the hall in a rush of excitement. ‘I don’t think I could bear one of her withering looks. After all, it was your idea.’
‘Coward!’ she replied, and with a playful look of admonishment, she turned towards the kitchen where she knew Mrs Brimstork would still be working at this late hour.
Saskia had barely crossed the hall when there was an urgent knock at the front door. She froze and cast Price a quizzical look, but he merely shrugged. ‘You’d better answer it,’ she said. ‘Albright’s out for the evening.’
Price turned on his heels and crossed the hall. He placed the flat of his palm on a bronze plate next to the jamb and waited for the familiar clicks as the locks released from their tumblers. He opened the inner door and entered the portico before checking a small viewing port to see who was there. An anxious looking Nicolas Fox, head of Internal Security, was waiting outs
ide, hopping impatiently from one foot to another.
Price opened the outer door and invited the man inside. Fox was dressed in a formal, expensively cut, dark grey suit with a navy blue club tie, regaled with an insignia displaying two anchors above a skull and crossbones, which Price did not recognise.
‘Please, come in,’ said Price, ushering Fox through the vestibule into the hall where Saskia was waiting. She craned her neck over his shoulder to get a better view of the unwelcome guest.
‘Henry, please forgive me for disturbing you at such an inhospitable hour, but I’m here to brief you regarding a recent development. I thought it would be best if we spoke in person,’ said Fox. He was a tall, gaunt man with an urgent demeanour that betrayed his eagerness to enter the house.
Price introduced Fox to Saskia, and as they shook hands, he heard her give an almost imperceptible sigh. Like her, he suspected that their plans for the evening were almost certainly ruined. Price took the overcoat Fox was carrying and laid it casually over the banister at the bottom of the stairs before leading him into the room he and Saskia had excitedly vacated minutes earlier. He ushered Fox into a chair and picked up the notebook that was still lying open on the rug, surreptitiously slipping it into a pocket. He sat down on the sofa opposite, and moments later, Saskia joined him there, having followed the men silently into the room.
Fox glanced uneasily at Saskia. He appeared as if he was about to say something but then hesitated. After composing himself, he tried again. ‘The matter is of the utmost importance. Council business, Henry. I … er … would prefer to speak alone,’ he said, squirming uncomfortably in the chair under Saskia’s unflinching gaze.
‘I think I’ll be the judge of that, Nicolas,’ replied Price sternly. ‘Is there a problem?’ he continued. ‘Your sudden arrival suggests that this is urgent.’
Fox glanced briefly again at Saskia. ‘It concerns Pearly Black,’ he said in an almost conspiratorial whisper. ‘I wouldn’t wish to upset your … er … Miss Schalk,’ he added uncomfortably.
‘I don’t need to speak for Saskia, but I can assure you that anything said regarding Black will not bother her nor will it go beyond the confines of these four walls. On that, you have my assurance, Nicolas. Now, please continue,’ Price replied, slipping his hand onto Saskia’s thigh in a gesture of support.
Fox sat silently for some moments as if weighing things up. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead, possibly from the warmth of the room after the chill air outside or perhaps an expression of his growing anxiety. His small, beady black eyes shifted involuntarily from side to side, drawing attention away from his large, aquiline nose. He was not an attractive man, but his features somehow suggested a hidden strength, reflecting his position as Chief of Internal Security.
Eventually, after his initial indecision, Fox began to speak. ‘Very well, but you must be prepared to accept the consequences of what I have to say, and I can assure you, Henry, there will be consequences.’
Price nodded, unfazed by the threatening undercurrent in Fox’s words.
Fox kept his gaze firmly trained on Price as he settled into his chair and began to relate the train of events that had led to his unannounced visit. ‘I’m here to brief you about a stand-off that’s developed over the last few hours. It all started some weeks ago when we learnt about a possible break-in. There was nothing particularly unusual in the intelligence that was picked up, but it was brought to my attention when a link with the Order emerged. We’ve recently stepped up our monitoring of the Order after a recent spate of murders and criminal misdemeanours that we’re convinced are linked to the group. Our efforts have been hampered by the overwhelming support the Order seems to enjoy with the public, not to mention the unheralded adoration for Black himself, courtesy of the downright lies that seem so prevalent in the media these days.’
‘And this has hindered your investigation?’ said Saskia, demonstrating her determination not to be excluded from the conversation.
A brief flicker of annoyance appeared on Fox’s face. ‘The intelligence we rely upon to subvert the interests of the criminal fraternity often arises from disgruntled or jealous ex-employees with a grudge or an old score to settle. When you consider how the public has been taken in by Black, it’s hardly surprising that we’ve not had much success where the Order’s concerned. There’s been such a surge in support for him recently I wouldn’t be surprised to see him happily ensconced as the next Prime Minister if the public have their way, particularly when the polls tell us that the current regime is ailing so badly. We, of course, know differently, but, unfortunately, no one’s come forward with anything to link the Order with the illegal activities we know they’re involved in; that is, until a few weeks ago when we received a tip-off regarding a burglary. For once, the information came from a reliable source.’
Price tilted his head quizzically, but Fox merely shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Henry, but I’m not prepared to divulge the name of the informant. I can assure you it’s of little importance. All I can tell you is that we refer to him as Viper at The Firm. We have to protect our sources, you understand?’
‘Very well,’ replied Price guardedly. ‘What’s been going on?’
‘It all began at The Gibbet, a seedy inn in the East End. It’s the sort of place favoured by all kinds of thieves and ruffians. Those whose misfortune it is to stumble upon the place would be well advised to turn and leave the moment they walk through the door, if they have any sense, that is.
‘Viper just so happened to be there when he rather fortuitously overheard a conversation between a couple of undesirables who frequent the place. The men were deep in conversation in a dimly lit corner and failed to notice that someone was lurking in their vicinity. They were talking about the theft of a consignment of metal from the docks six months ago. It was a rather low-key affair, being neither audacious in its planning nor risky in its execution, and didn’t attract our attention at the time bearing in mind the nature of goods that were stolen. What was odd, though, was that the gang ignored some of the more valuable items and only took a stock of silver and nickel. Why they chose those particular metals and nothing else, we’ve no idea,’ said Fox, causing Price and Saskia to exchange nervous glances.
‘There was nothing suspicious about the theft at the time,’ Fox said. ‘It appeared to be a routine case; that is until forensics came up with a name from the evidence we found at the scene.’
‘Go on,’ said Price urgently.
‘The man was none other than Liquid Lex, lifelong felon and associate of Black. Liquid Lex is, of course, merely a nickname for a man who hides behind many guises and aliases. As to his original name, who knows? His real identity has long remained hidden, clouded in the mists of time. He’s gone under various names for the sake of the many and varied crimes he’s committed against mankind, but this is the name we know him by.’
‘Yes, and it stems from the trademark methods he uses for his misdemeanours,’ said Saskia.
The observation raised a look of astonishment on Fox’s face, and an awkward silence ensued as he waited for Saskia to enlarge on her comment.
Saskia suddenly looked self-conscious, her pale complexion pinking slightly. She smiled, almost as if she was embarrassed by her interjection, but she cleared her throat softly before continuing. ‘I met Lex on several occasions. It was after I’d left the Academy when I was working with Pearly,’ she said, colouring more visibly now. ‘Lex used to visit Pearly regularly. I was sometimes party to their conversations, although they never talked about anything illegal, of course,’ she added quickly.
‘He was introduced to me as Lex Larcombe, but I always had my suspicions. Pearly called him Lex, but some referred to him by other names. It wasn’t difficult to deduce his true identity. After all, Liquid Lex’s reputation seems to be the source of a perverse kind of hero worship in certain quarters. He’s a charismatic character, and it’s easy to be captivated by his humour and enthusiasm, not to mention his rather
distinctive appearance; all hair and combat fatigues, you see. It was Pearly’s association with men like Lex that began to raise my suspicions well before the Order’s activities began in earnest.’
‘I assume the details of this are known to you, Henry?’ asked Fox.
Saskia glared at him indignantly.
‘Of course,’ Price snapped, exuding annoyance. ‘I can assure you Saskia passed on everything she learnt of Black to me, which, if you recall, was relayed to the Council. I wasn’t aware your memory was so poor, Nicolas,’ Price added sarcastically.
‘Perhaps I should continue with my account,’ said Fox, ignoring the rebuke.
Price nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘It was most unlike Lex to make such a mistake. He’s a man whose reputation for exactitude exceeds those of a similar disreputable inclination, but on this occasion, we found a small piece of cloth attached to a barbed-wire fence surrounding the foundry.
‘Forensics found a scrap of hair on the fabric and they were able to match it with Lex from our records. We’ve no idea why he was involved in such a low-key theft, but perhaps you could enlighten me regarding the significance of the metals that were taken?’ suggested Fox suddenly.
Price and Saskia glanced at one another again, and despite their exchange of looks, no words passed between them. Price got up and ambled over to the window. He pulled back the curtains and looked outside disinterestedly. ‘What makes you think we know anything about what was stolen?’ he replied, looking casually up at the impenetrable wall of a starless sky.
‘I know you both have a particular interest in metals, that’s all.’
Price raised an eyebrow. ‘There could be any number of reasons why someone would take this combination of metals. There’s nothing that immediately springs to mind, but I’ll give it some thought. Now, please continue if you will, Nicolas.’
