Amanda Lester and the Gold Spectacles Surprise

by Paula Berinstein

  Something told her that wasn’t Waltz’s style. He was a flamboyant man who craved attention. He wouldn’t hide himself away. He’d delight in conducting his dirty business in front of everyone, brag about how they were too stupid to recognize a criminal when they saw one, or two, or seven. Yes, he would definitely hide in plain sight. So what was the most likely venue?

  Suddenly she knew. It was so obvious. “I think he’ll go to a church. Or a library.”

  Stencil laughed for a good long time. “You’re not half bad, Lestrade. The church idea is good, but a library is better. Our associates would go into a church. Some of them are quite devout. But a library, never. No one would ever think to look for them there. We’re going to the British Library.”

  “How do you know it isn’t some other library?” she said.

  “The others are too small. You can disappear in the big one.”

  “So you’ve been there.”

  “Of course I’ve been there. Do you think we Moriartys are uneducated?”

  She knew Nick was smart. Blixus too. But the idea of Stencil hanging around in the British Library seemed incongruous. On the other hand, why not? He’d had books in his house. Someone who lived there was a reader. And his ancestor, James, was a professor.

  As far as Waltz went, though, there was a problem. Two really. How could Stencil possibly know he would be there at this very moment, and worse, Waltz didn’t actually have the glasses.

  Her gaze drifted outside again. The wind had come up and was blowing the rain onto the glass.

  “Get in the car, Lestrade.”

  He pulled her by the arm, down the stairs, out the front door, and into the car.

  As they drove Amanda couldn’t get that awful letter out of her mind. Her mother fawning all over that smarmy bully. It was beyond disgusting. Suddenly she wondered if her father were involved with someone too. Some Tibetan woman? If so she hoped she was nicer. She certainly couldn’t be any worse.

  She gazed out the window. The rain was coming down so hard that Stencil had had to speed up his wipers. They were streaking across the windscreen in a blur. But hey, wait a minute. This wasn’t the way to the British Library.

  “What are we doing?” she said.

  He grinned at her in the mirror. “I’m taking you to my house for milk and cookies.”

  “Why aren’t we going to the library?”

  “I’m surprised at you, Lestrade. Even if your daddy is at the British Library, the chances of him being there right now are minuscule. I’m going to hack into their surveillance system and watch for him. We’ll get there before he leaves. I hope you enjoy my hospitality. You may be staying a while.”

  She huffed. “He isn’t my father.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps not yet, little one. But soon.”

  It took forever to get anywhere in London and she was stuck with him in that car for what seemed like eternity even though they hadn’t far to go. Finally they drove up to the familiar mansion with the doggie door and he cut the ignition.

  Warning her not to try anything, he led her inside. Then he sat her down in the same study she’d breached and tied her hands and ankles. She considered making a run for it but was pretty sure he’d have no compunction about shooting her in the back, so she sat there and glared at him.

  Stencil winked and started up his computer. She heard him pressing keys and clicking his mouse. Every so often he would say, “Hm” and “Pathetic security” and stuff like that. Meanwhile she was trying to figure out how to escape.

  He seemed to be obsessed with locks. She’d noticed that when she was there before, but since riding in his car she’d begun to study his methods. Not only did he have fancy locks on his doors, but he seemed to eschew handles in his house as well as his car. That meant getting out could be just as difficult as getting in. Did he regularly keep prisoners in his house too, or was the handle thing just another way of making sure that if he was robbed the culprit couldn’t get away? She hadn’t seen this before and vowed to mention it to Professor Feeney. It seemed like something the kids should study.

  But speculation didn’t solve her problem. Even if she made a break for it, which considering that her ankles were bound had little chance of succeeding, she was probably trapped anyway.

  Stencil must have read her mind because he started giggling and pointing at her. Or maybe he’d noticed her studying his house or straining at her bonds. Now that she thought about it she had been resisting them without realizing it, like some people absently grind their teeth. He was obviously watching her out of the corner of his eye. She flashed him a dirty look.

  “You’re jumping the gun a bit, Lestrade. He isn’t there yet.” He did that annoying winking thing again. “Wait, yes he is.” Amanda looked at him incredulously. “I found him. I’m impressed with your powers of reasoning. You took a shot and actually hit something. Since I don’t believe in coincidence, the only thing I can say is that you’re more observant than you realize. Tricky Sidebotham seems to have trained you well. I do so wish you were my kid. Perhaps now that you’ve lost your parents you’d like a new home.”

  He thought he was so clever, making fun of her like that. “You’re not funny,” she snarled.

  He pushed back his chair and ambled over to her. Then he bent down, took a lock of her hair, and rolled it between his thumb and fingers. She pulled away and it hurt. “You could do worse. The rewards of being a Moriarty are substantial.”

  “Like going to prison and living in tunnels?”

  He frowned. “Temporary inconveniences.”

  “Then what?”

  He backed up and leaned against his desk. That three-piece suit he was wearing had to be expensive. He must have had his own tailor. It was odd that a man with such impeccable sartorial taste kept such a bland house.

  “I was half joking, but since you’re interested I’ll tell you. If you were my daughter—my obedient daughter—I’d buy you your own film studio. You could make all the movies you want.”

  How did he know about Plover Films? Although a production company wasn’t a studio. Now that would be something. The studios were where the power lay. He sure knew how to push her buttons.

  “And what would you get in return?”

  “A motivated, connected daughter who might just be amusing.”

  “In other words, someone you could use.”

  “We’re all users, Lestrade. Use or be used. That’s the way of the world.”

  Amanda tried to come up with a clever retort, but from what she’d seen since she’d been at Legatum she knew he had a point. It made her sad but she wasn’t about to give in to his nihilistic view.

  “So, shall I call my attorney and get the adoption papers drawn up?” he joked.

  “You have a weird sense of humor.”

  “So I’m told.”

  He was so disgusting, but so smart. Imagine what the Moriartys could do for the world if they wanted to. The waste of talent saddened her.

  “Have you ever thought about going straight?”

  He shook his head. “I take it back. I’m not interested in having a lunatic for a daughter.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not go straight, you mean? Boring.”

  “It isn’t boring. I love being a detective.”

  He chortled. “The girl who hates Sherlock Holmes?”

  “That was before. I’m different now.”

  “Can you seriously tell me that if you hadn’t fallen for a criminal you’d want to be a detective? Without that spice in your life you’d be as bored as a goat. Whatever else I might think of him my nephew isn’t uninteresting.”

  “You’re jaded. I feel sorry for you.”

  “Yes, I am, and we’re wasting time. We need to get to the library. Got your checkout card, daughter?” Amanda glared at him. “Never mind. We’ll get you a new one.”

  Lila was incensed that that other Moriarty had invaded her inner sanctum. If she’d been home she would have blasted him to K
ingdom Come. He had some nerve going through her things. But she would get him. With all the resources of the cartel at her disposal it would be a piece of cake. She couldn’t wait.

  While they were driving Amanda pondered Stencil’s remark about detectives being boring. It wasn’t true, of course, but something about it was bothering her. She was sure she’d love Nick no matter who or what he was, but all she could hear in her mind was, “Bored as a goat, bored as a goat, bored as a goat.”

  “Legatum isn’t boring, you know,” she said.

  Stencil turned around and fixed her with a stare. She hated when he did that. It was so unsafe and anyway those eyes were unsettling. “How do you think your boyfriend got so interesting? Do you think he was born that way? Being a criminal is the only way to live. One day you’ll understand.”

  Amanda doubted that very much, although she was beginning to wonder if her mother did. What was she doing with a guy like Waltz anyway? Was Stencil right, that a criminal in one’s life added irresistible spice? If that wasn’t it, and there was no way it could be, what was it, especially after being with a wonderful man like Herb Lester? She hoped whatever was ailing her mother wasn’t genetic.

  Apparently Stencil had reserved a parking spot online, so when they arrived at the library, even though the sign said “Full” he pulled in and found a space waiting for him. He locked her inside and went upstairs to the plaza to watch for Waltz.

  Now what? There had to be a way to get out of the car. If she could free her hands and feet she could drive the stupid thing, as she’d done when she’d stolen that lorry up in Scotland. Of course she didn’t know how to hotwire a car but how hard could it be?

  While she was pondering the potential mechanics of ignition, a raincoated man came back to the car next to Stencil’s and unlocked his door. Seeing this as a golden opportunity Amanda screamed as loud as she could. As she was doing so it occurred to her that he might be one of the Moriarty cartel, but it was too late to stop now. She wailed at the top of her lungs.

  The man looked up. “I’ve been kidnapped!” she yelled. “I’m tied up and can’t get away.”

  He reached into his car, pulled out a hammer, and motioned to her to move to the far side of the seat. Then he bashed the window. He felt around inside to unlock the door but of course there was no handle. He told her to sit back again and cleared more of the glass out of the window. Then he turned back to his car, retrieved a heavy jacket, and placed it over the sharp edges.

  “Here,” he said, digging in his pocket. He brought out a Swiss knife. “Let me get you out of those ties.”

  He snipped the plastic around her wrists and handed her the knife so she could do her feet. Then he helped her out the window and took out his phone.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  He answered without looking at her. “Dialing 999.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and handed him back the knife. Then she took off as fast as her legs would carry her, despite the discomfort caused by the money she’d stuffed in her shoes. A detective never knew what could happen, and she made sure she was always prepared.

  She ran all the way to King’s Cross, extracted the money, and bought a ticket. As she was riding back to Legatum she wondered: could Waltz really have the spectacles? If he and Taffeta were in cahoots it was possible he did. Now that was a scary thought: two of Britain’s most evil and ruthless criminals with a tool like that. How the spectacles worked and what exactly they did she didn’t know but if Earful had invented them they had to be potent. She had to get those glasses.

  Lila finished her dessert and dabbed at her mouth. She always enjoyed dining at the Ledbury. It was so civilized.

  She picked up her phone and hit Waltz’s icon. “Get away okay, darling?”

  “Yes, my love,” he said. “As soon as you called. I couldn’t resist though. I snuck around the corner and watched. Moriarty waited an hour before finally giving up. He was as wet as a drowned rat.”

  “Give Mischa a raise, will you?” she said.

  He made a kissing sound. “As soon as I get home.”

  19

  The Second Castle

  Scapulus Holmes sat at his mother’s desk and booted up his laptop. He’d been careless in that samurai castle and let Nick get the better of him, but this time he would be prepared. No more pussyfooting around trying this and that. This time he would slash his way through if he had to. Ninjas were stealthy but they were also ruthless, and Nick had proven that he would stop at nothing to win. Well, two could play at that game.

  This time there would be more than documents involved. Now the goal was the samurai’s daughter. The mission was to kidnap her and force her father to pay a hefty ransom. That meant finding her and getting her out of the castle unseen.

  Considering that he’d already explored parts of the castle and discovered some of the secret passages, the task sounded like a piece of cake. But when he entered the game he saw that he was facing a whole new castle in a whole new landscape, and none of that knowledge would help him. But it didn’t matter. Nick was in the same boat.

  This castle was balanced on top of a tall, narrow promontory that overlooked the sea, steep and dangerous and impossible. It was almost as if he would have to summit Everest just to reach it. The crazy thing must have had a dozen levels and formed such a complicated polyhedron that calculating its volume would have been daunting. You could hide not only a princess there but an entire army. Its defenders could rain arrows or cannonballs down on you as you approached and you’d never have a chance. Clever designers, these.

  It was obvious that he would have to make his attempt under the cover of darkness. The world of the game did not include electric lighting, so the castle would be lit only by candlelight and lantern. Dark, camouflaging clothing would be called for—not black, because night was never actually black, but deep blue—and the ability to mimic nocturnal animals. If there was ever a time for stealth this was it. No talking his way in this time. He would effectively have to disappear.

  How he would actually enter the castle was an open question, however. There would be no deliveries at night, no visitors arriving, no way to sneak in on another’s coattails. The place would be sealed up tight. That meant he would either need to cultivate a confederate or become a cat burglar.

  As he pondered his dilemma he came up with an idea so wild, so ridiculous that it might just work. He would woo the princess and gain her heart.

  Holmes had never thought of himself as a Lothario. In fact despite his romances with Amanda and Amphora, he’d never considered himself attractive. But in the game he wasn’t himself. He was a character and he could be anything he wanted. What he wanted now was to make himself into his enemy, Nick, a boy who melted hearts as easily as he breathed. He’d watched him long enough. He could do it.

  He needed to write a love letter and get it to the princess. He couldn’t imagine that the game included a postal service, so he would have to figure out how to deliver it some other way. And for that he would have to wait until daylight, because he was going to bribe someone to take it to her. If it pleased her she would arrange for him to enter. It was a weird plan but an original one, and he liked it. Now he just had to write the thing.

  He had no doubt that the programmers were watching his every step and would read the note. That meant he probably shouldn’t plagiarize Shakespeare or some love poet, although that would shortcut the process and save time. No, he would have to compose the letter himself. Since it was actually the programmers who would determine the princess’s reaction and not a real woman, he wasn’t sure of the best approach. Should he toss off some casual love note, or make it clever and passionate?

  He looked up the credits for the game and found that one of the programmers was a woman. Perhaps if he imagined her as the princess and tried to win her heart he would have a shot. It was a crazy idea, but then everything having to do with the situation was crazy. Why not?

  He googled her and found that she
was deeply into Japanese culture. Perhaps, then, she would appreciate Japanese-style love poetry. He did a quick search and found that classic Japanese love poems comprised thirty-one syllables and were called waka. They were full of nature imagery, puns, and wit. That would be a tall order. Holmes was no poet, but he would give it a try.

  After doing a bit more research he decided he should emphasize how ardent he was and proclaim that he was jealous of the flowers that shared the air in his beloved’s room. Then he would plead with her to take pity on him and let him come to her just to gaze upon her sleeve. It sounded like the kind of thing those poets wrote.

  It was hard going and took hours but he was finally satisfied with the result. He hadn’t realized just how much time had gone by and was surprised to see that the sun was coming up, both in the game and real life. Good. It was time to get the note to the princess.

  He entered the game and stood at the bottom of the hill. Traffic was already beginning to flow to and from the complex, up and down a set of steep staircases, with elaborate pulley mechanisms to raise and lower supplies that could not be carried. He spied an old woman heading for one of the staircases and accosted her.

  “Good morning, madam,” he said softly, so as not to alarm her.

  “Sir,” she said politely.

  “I throw myself upon your mercy,” he said, kneeling.

  She looked him up and down. “Are you ill, young man? Get up.”

  “Yes, good mother,” he said, rising but keeping his head bowed as a sign of respect. “I am stricken with love.”

  “Ah,” she said, smiling. She was missing a front tooth. “The princess. She has many suitors.”

  “That is not the reason,” said Holmes. “I do not fear the competition. I am ill with longing for her. I cannot sleep for thinking of her.”

  “I am sorry for you,” said the woman, cupping his chin and lifting his head.