By Royal Command (18 page)

‘Poor James Bond. He died for the wrong cause.’

‘How could you be so sure I’d come?’

‘It was all too easy. A little nudge from Roan was all it took. We know all about you, James: you’re a loner, thinking you can sort everything out all by yourself. Well, this is a man’s game, Bucko, and you’re just a boy. Sure and it’s the same with Roan. Did you really think you had a chance with her when there was a real man like me around?’

‘You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ said James. ‘But what if I’d brought a policeman with me? What then?’

‘Then he’d be as dead as your man over there,’ said Dandy, throwing his knife across the crypt where James heard it stick into a coffin.

‘It’s very civilised that the coppers in this country don’t carry guns,’ said Dandy, ‘but it sure does make life easier for the likes of me. Now, I’ve talked too long.’

Dandy looked at his watch.

‘Five past eleven,’ he said. ‘They should all have settled down nicely upstairs. I’m going to light the fuse now and leave you to it, if you don’t mind. I need to get into a good position to watch the fireworks. It’s a ten-minute fuse. At quarter past, by my calculation, the band of the Grenadier Guards will be marching past here like so many tin soldiers. They’ll be wearing their red uniforms and their bearskin caps and carrying Union Jacks and the crowds will be cheering, and then – BOOM! – the remains of this chapel, the symbol of the greatest school in England, will rain down on their heads. This day will be remembered for centuries, James.
You’ll
be remembered;
I’ll
be remembered. We’re going to write our names into the history books with blood. So long, and thanks for all your help, Bucko.’

Dandy winked at James and tied a gag around his mouth. Then he took out some matches, struck one on the rough stone of the wall and set light to the end of the fuse. James heard him go to the coffin and retrieve his knife, and a second later he gave a short chuckle before climbing out through the hole in the wall.

James was moving instantly.

He hadn’t been idle while Dandy was talking. He had been working on a plan. He knew he had to remain clear-headed and to act carefully and methodically.

Fear wouldn’t help him now.

He had less than ten minutes to get free and cut the fuse.

Was it enough time?

It had to be. There wasn’t any choice.

He checked his situation. His legs were chained and padlocked to the chair legs. His hands were fastened behind his back with cord. Thicker rope was wound around his upper body and a stone pillar behind him. The knots were tight and expert, but James could still move his fingers. He reached down and pinched the back of his coat. He closed his eyes, concentrating hard, pulling the heavy cloth upwards between his fingers.

Inch by agonising inch.

He was terrified he would drop the coat-tail and have to start again, but at last he felt something hard between his fingers. It was one of the razor-blades. He gingerly eased it out of its little pocket and then, by curling his fingers up, he was able to start working on the ropes.

Ssssssssssssssssssss…

All the while he had been aware of the steady hiss of the fuse as it made its leisurely way across the floor of the crypt, sparking and smoking.

He worked quickly, sliding the blade backwards and forwards, wishing he could see what damage, if any, it was doing to the cord. Then he felt something give as a strand came loose. It was working but, God, it was slow progress.

Ssssssssssssssssssss…

He glanced over at the fuse, trying to work out how much time he had left.

Not long by the look of it.

Another strand came loose, then another, and then at last his wrists snapped apart. Now he had to work his hands round to the front. The ropes around his chest and upper arms made it difficult.

Difficult, but not impossible.

He wriggled and squirmed, keeping a firm hold on the precious razor-blade.

There!

He could see his hands. They were cut and bleeding where he must have nicked them with the razor without knowing.

Never mind that. Get on with it, James.

Ssssssssssssssssssss…

He slashed at the ropes round his chest, slicing through the outer layers. The woven hemp strands frayed and curled back as he cut through them.

Faster… Go faster…

A sudden flare from the fuse made him look up for a second. There were only a few feet left before it reached the bomb.

Then – horror – in his panic to speed up, the blade slipped in his bloody fingers and dropped.

His breath stuck in his throat.

He hardly dared look down.

It was all right. The razor was sitting safely in his lap. He snatched it up and went back to work.

Ssssssssssssssssssss…

One of the ropes dropped away, cut clean through. It was all James needed. He felt the tightness loosen round his chest. He twisted his torso, punching with his shoulders, and was able, finally, to shrug the rest of the ropes off. They slithered down to his waist and he pulled his arms free.

Now there were only his ankles left.

But they were held fast by a padlock.

He looked at the fuse. It was almost at the bomb.

He made a quick calculation of the distance…

If he was quick…

But what if he was wrong?

If he was wrong there was very little he would know about it, because he would be instantly blown sky-high.

Ssssssssssssssssssss…

With a furious yell he threw himself forward, taking the chair with him, flinging his arms out in front.

He crashed face first on to the floor, his hands landing directly on the bright, dancing flame. He ignored the pain, gripped the still smouldering end of the fuse in one hand, and tugged with all his might.

It came away from the steel drum. The danger was snuffed out.

James lay there, breathing heavily, his face pressed against the cold stone, hardly daring to believe he had done it.

It wasn’t over yet, though.

Dandy was still out there.

19

One Move and I’ll Tear Your Throat Out

James retrieved his set of lock picks from their hiding place in his coat-tails. In less than a minute the padlock was open. Red Kelly had taught him well. He freed his ankles, stood up and checked his injuries. There was a lump on the back of his head, and his chin was sore and grazed where Dandy had hit him. He had bruised his knees and ankles when he had crashed to the floor and both hands were cut and bleeding. His left hand was also scorched and blackened from where he had grabbed the burning fuse. He wrapped his handkerchief round it. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now.

He didn’t have time to be playing Florence Nightingale. He had to stop Dandy from getting away.

He put the picks and the razor-blade in his pocket. The razor would be useless in a fight, but he did have the metal skewer. He fished it out of his coat-tail and slid it up his left sleeve, holding the blunt end tightly in his bandaged fist. It would be out of sight, but if he needed it he could simply draw it out with his right hand like a sword from its scabbard.

He was ready. He ran up the steps towards daylight.

There was music and singing coming from the chapel. The ante-chapel was empty. James hurried through to the stair where the colleger was back at his station.

‘Another message from the Head Man,’ James shouted as he sped past. ‘Nobody, but
absolutely nobody
, is to go down into the crypt without his permission. Have you got that?’

‘Yes, but –’

James didn’t wait to hear any more. He was outside and heading for the archway at full speed. He took a quick look at his watch; the bomb should have gone off a minute ago. He had no idea how accurate the fuse timing had been, but he guessed that Dandy wouldn’t want to go back and check, and risk blowing himself up.

He burst out on to the High Street and found himself in the heart of a huge crowd.

How was he ever going to find Dandy in all this?

Think, James, think…

Dandy had said he was going to ‘watch the fireworks’, which meant that he would have to stay close enough to see the chapel. It was the largest building around so it was visible from almost anywhere, but if Dandy really wanted to see the effect his bomb was going to have he would want to stay close to School Yard.

James wished he hadn’t blundered out on to the street. If Dandy was watching the archway he would have spotted him.

Or would he?

James looked around; the pavement was packed with boys, all identically dressed.

Sometimes there was something to be said for wearing a school uniform.

He tucked in behind a group crossing the road. There was no traffic and in the distance he could hear the thump of drums.

Of course, the parade
. He saw the tail-end of the first marching band as they moved away up the Slough Road. A second band was approaching from the direction of Windsor. That was why the streets were busier than normal, even for the Fourth of June. People were jostling for the best view. If the bomb had gone off, they would have all been caught up in the carnage.

Masonry and rubble would have tumbled out of the sky and into the street.

That meant that Dandy would be taking shelter and not standing out in the open.

Where was the best spot?

James thought back all those weeks ago to when he had glimpsed The Invisible Man hiding in the narrow space between Durnford and Hawtrey.

That was the most obvious place. That was where James would have chosen. If he worked his way behind the buildings, he could come up on the alley from the rear.

But he would have to hurry. By now Dandy must have realised that something had gone wrong.

James skirted round School Library and dodged between buildings until he found the back of School Hall, then slowed down. He was at the rear entrance to the alleyway. It seemed very dark after the bright sunlight of the High Street.

He peered round the corner. A man was standing at the far end, smoking a cigarette and looking the other way, with his back to the alley.

James grinned.

Got you!

Now what, though?

He could hardly catch Dandy single-handed. Especially as Dandy was armed with his knife, and all James had was the thin skewer up his sleeve.

Idiot!
He had nearly charged into another dangerous situation without thinking it through beforehand.

He was wondering what to do when the man dropped his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with his shoe. As he turned to leave, his face caught the light.

It wasn’t Dandy.

So where was he?

His question was answered immediately as a strong hand was clasped over his mouth, and a second hand brought a long, cold blade up to his neck.

Dandy must have spotted James and followed him round here.

‘One move and I’ll tear your throat out.’

James stayed still, hardly even daring to breathe. Though he could feel Dandy’s breath, hot on the back of his neck, he could also sense that Dandy was shaking, and his body felt slightly damp.

For all his coolness in the crypt, the man was scared.

‘How did you get away?’ Dandy’s voice hissed in his ear. ‘Tell me – but I warn you, if you cry out, or make a sound, I’ll cut the tongue from your head.’

Dandy released his grip on James’s mouth.

‘Someone came,’ James lied. ‘Another verger. I was spotted going down into the crypt. He defused the bomb. They know all about you.’

‘Yeah? I don’t believe you, Bucko, but it makes no damned difference. I may have missed the King this time, but you’re next on the list and I’ll not miss you.’

Dandy put his free hand back up to hold James’s head steady, and in so doing he lowered the hand holding the knife just for a moment.

It was all James needed. He didn’t think twice. Dandy had offered him this tiny window of opportunity, and it might be his last.

He thrust his left elbow back hard, forcing the skewer along his sleeve, so that the end was sticking out behind him.

How far it was sticking out he had no idea – he just prayed it was enough to do some damage.

Dandy grunted and swore at James, but as he raised his arm to bring his knife up, he grunted again and coughed. James felt his whole body shudder.

Dandy had obviously discovered that James had done more than just elbow him. He was more badly injured than he had imagined.

Again James seized his opportunity. He bit hard into Dandy’s wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. Then he shook himself loose and bolted.

Dandy made a grab for him and took hold of his flying coat-tails, but he screamed as the second hidden razor-blade cut deep into his fingers.

James was free.

He didn’t stop to look back, but ran faster than he had ever run in his life. He knew the way to go – and followed exactly the same route he had taken when he was following The Invisible Man.

He sprinted behind Keate’s and out on to the Eton Wick Road, skidding to a halt as a car went past, its horn blaring. He looked quickly back now. There was no sign of Dandy.

He would be safer where there were crowds.

He carried on running until he reached the High Street where the second marching band was passing by, cymbals crashing, brass blaring, drums thundering. The cheers from the bystanders added to the general deafening din.

James edged between the people on the pavement, moving in the direction of Windsor. He passed Spottiswoode’s and as he came to Hodgson House something hard jabbed him in his side.

He whirled round, ready to defend himself, but it was only a small boy waving a flag.

As he turned back, though, he found his path blocked.

By a man in a trilby hat.

His right hand was jammed into his jacket pocket and he was staring straight at James.

It was James’s first chance to see what he looked like.

There was nothing particularly memorable about him. He had a hard, lean face with thick black eyebrows and thin lips. Stubble showed blue-grey against his pale skin. He had a slight rash round his shirt collar.

‘Stop,’ he said bluntly.

But James was in no mood to follow orders. He gave the man a mighty shove and sent him sprawling into the path of the band.

There was instant chaos, and it was all James needed to get away. He realised that this was the very spot where Dandy had tried to kill him before. That meant that the entrance to Jourdelay’s Passage was nearby.

Yes. There it was. He ducked off the street and started to run.

He was halfway down the passage when he realised there was someone coming the other way.

It was Dandy. He had his knife in his left hand; his right hand was hidden inside his jacket where there was a dark stain across his stomach. He was dripping blood on to the flagstones and looked pale and feverish.

He grinned when he saw James. A horrible sick grin. Like a death’s head.

He raised his knife. James knew that with his right hand Dandy was an excellent shot.

How good was he with his left?

James wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

He spun on his heels.

And that was when he discovered he was trapped.

The Invisible Man was coming the other way, slowly advancing down the passage, moving lightly like a cat. His hat jammed down on his head. His expressionless eyes fixed on James. This was a man doing a job. There was no enjoyment in it, nor was there hatred or anger.

He pulled a stubby black revolver from his pocket.

James spun round and hurled himself to the ground just as Dandy let fly with the knife. A single shot rang out, barely audible above the racket from the marching band.

James lay on the ground, tensed and shaking. It wasn’t possible that both the knife and the bullet had missed him, and yet he had felt nothing. He knew that when a body was scared it flooded with adrenalin that sometimes masked all pain. But surely he would have felt something?

Well, if they had missed him, it would surely only be a matter of moments before they tried again. He curled up, waiting for the second shot, his hands wrapped around his head, his eyes clamped shut.

The shot never came.

Instead he heard the sound of running footsteps. Slowly he uncurled and opened his eyes.

Dandy was lying motionless on the ground, his arms flung wide. There was a neat bullet hole in his forehead and a rapidly spreading pool of blood round him.

Before James could react, before he could even properly take in what he was seeing, he felt himself gripped by two strong arms and hauled to his feet.

‘Move it,’ a voice barked, and he was frog-marched down the alley. Two more men laid a blanket over the dead body. One of them was the man with the cigarette he had mistaken for Dandy earlier.

James was being pulled at speed to the back end of the passage, his heels dragging over the flagstones. He tried to struggle but was gripped firmly and expertly. As they left the passage James caught a glimpse of the two men rolling Dandy up in the blanket.

A black car screeched to a halt by Queen’s Schools, doors flew open, and James was bundled into the back. In a moment they were off, racing down the Eton Wick Road away from town. The driver manoeuvred through the narrow streets at dangerous speed, at one point scraping against an old brick wall. He swore but didn’t slow down.

The Invisible Man was sitting next to the driver while James was alone in the back with the man who had hauled him out of the passageway. He was big and square jawed with a guardsman’s build. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead and showed all the animation of a shop-window dummy.

James considered opening the door and trying to jump out but knew it would be futile. These men were too well organised.

For now, he was alive. If they’d wanted to kill him, he had no doubt that they would have done. Instead The Invisible Man had shot Dandy, and James was more curious than scared.

Who were these men and what did they want from him?

The Invisible Man lit a cigarette and opened his window to let the fumes out. Then he turned round in his seat to face James, his eyes pale under the thick brows. ‘We need to talk,’ he said. James wasn’t sure exactly what he had been expecting – a foreign accent of some sort, probably Russian, certainly not the soft Scottish brogue that issued from the man’s lips.

‘Back there in Jourdelay’s Passage?’ the man went on. ‘With the gardener, O’Keefe? Was it how it looked?’

‘How did it look?’ said James.

‘It looked like he was trying to kill you.’

‘He was,’ said James.

‘Why?’

‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘Just answer the question.’

James thought about it for a moment then decided to tell the truth, and he sketched out the rough details of what had happened that morning.