Horatio Lyle (20 page)

‘Teresa! I will give you a whole sovereign to enjoy your proud achievement, so long as you don’t enjoy it now!’

Tess, satisfied with this, sat back in the carriage, and looked smug.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ asked Thomas as they sped through the dark, empty streets.

Lyle pulled an object out of his pocket. It was the brass knife. ‘This mean anything to either of you?’

Tess looked at Lyle with a frown. ‘Oh yes, Mister Lyle, ’cos I can just look at things, I can, and know that this were the knife what killed the bigwig who hired the horse what ran from the house what caught fire where the lady kept the silver an’ why it means you mustn’t sit down heavy on a beetroot, Mister Lyle.’

‘Thank you, Teresa.’

‘No problem, Mister Lyle.’

‘Thomas, do you have any insights to add to this staggering conclusion?’

‘Sorry, sir. It’s familiar but I don’t know where I’ve seen it. I’m sorry that I can’t help you. I hope you won’t think that I
. . .
’ He realized Tess and Lyle were staring at him.

On the floor the sleeping Tate rolled over, sticking a limp paw uselessly into the air, and snored. Lyle said finally, ‘Listen. This is getting a little bit
. . .
irregular. I’m not sure whether you two shouldn’t take the cab home.’

‘Sir! Absolutely not!’ said Thomas, sitting up straight.

Tess said, ‘You got a sovereign on you, Mister Lyle?’

‘Not on me, no.’

‘Then I ain’t leavin’.’

‘It would be shameful,’ continued Thomas, oblivious of Tess, ‘to fail in our duties after this amount of work, and you may have need of us. I can assist you in gaining access and information; Teresa here can also help; and I feel that our duties as citizens of this great nation demand that we
. . .
’

‘He’s stayin’ too,’ said Tess helpfully.

‘People are running around with sharpened knives!’ snapped Lyle.

No one spoke. Tate snored. Thomas looked down at his shoes. At length Tess, fixing her eyes on Lyle, said in a very quiet voice, ‘Then you’ll need someone to watch your back, won’t you, Mister Lyle?’

The carriage came to a stop.

CHAPTER 12

In a small street behind King’s Cross, where the houses on either side of the road squatted like brown caterpillars waiting in vain to turn into butterflies, and where you could look along to see the black sky end before the houses did, at a late hour of this cold, foggy night, an observer might have noted a number of unusual things happen in the clammy darkness.

First, there was the creak of a shoe and someone said, ‘Ow! He trod on my foot!’

‘You trod on my foot!’

‘I’m really very sorry, I didn’t mean to
. . .
’

‘
Shush!
’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

Then there was a shuffling noise. The sound of metal clinking.

‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’

‘This is where the carriage went.’

‘What about the house?’

‘Do you see any other houses with the lights still burning?’

‘What’s that sound?’

‘That’s Tate.’

‘How can you tell, sir?’

‘It’s the low whimpering sound of self-pity indicative of someone standing on his ear.’

‘Goodness, I am so sorry.’

‘Thomas, perhaps you just ought to stand very still and
. . .
and keep a look out.’

‘Yes. Yes, I’ll do it!’

‘Teresa, you come with me.’

A sound of mud squishing underfoot. A brief shadow darting across the light from a window.

‘Teresa?’

‘Yes, Mister Lyle?’

‘Can you hear anything?’

‘Hold on.’

‘What
are
you doing?’

‘Listenin’! Shush!’

A slightly taken aback ‘Sorry.’

And from beyond the narrow yellow gap under a wooden door, another voice, shaking with terror. ‘Who are you? What do you want? Look, if it’s about Carwell I don’t know where he is! He had the goods, find him!’

And then a new voice, dry and cruel. ‘Mr Bray?’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am Mr Dew. You are a very difficult man to find, Mr Bray. Mrs McVicar paid with her mind to find you.’

‘No. I don’t know what you mean!’

‘You have the Plate, Mr Bray. We know Carwell gave it to you. Did you know Carwell is now dead? And young Jack, who hid in the sarcophagus as his brother waited impatiently outside - he was the first to die. Did you know young Jack, Carwell’s brother, Mr Bray?’

‘No
. . .
I
. . .
oh God
. . .
look, I swear, I
. . .
’

‘What is this? Why is there still iron on him?’

‘It’s his crucifix, Mr Dew. We are not proud of our weakness. Perhaps with gloves we might
. . .
’

‘Cowards! Fools! You are afraid of a little iron? It isn’t even the burning iron, the sickening iron, the magnetic iron, it’s just a lump!’

‘Yes, sir.’

A faint metallic click, the clatter of a footstep. Lyle looked up sharply and saw a shadow hastily retreating into the darkness on the other side of the street - but too late.

‘What was that? Mr Leaf?’

The door opened. Behind it sat the man who had to be Bray, his round face vacant, mouth open, eyes staring at nothing, although he looked unharmed, just sitting passively, in a chair. Three men with bright green eyes stood around him, while behind him stood a fourth who could only be Mr Dew: teeth like a fish, eyes lit up like emeralds, bright red hair stuck straight up, as if he had been born shocked.

Caught in the light sprawling from the open doorway was Tess. She looked up into the surprised expressions of the men. ‘Erm
. . .
hot cross bun?’ she hazarded.

And as two of the men drew long brass knives and Mr Dew reached into a nearby drawer, Lyle rose up behind Tess like an avenging angel, grabbed her by the collar, dragged her back from the door and threw a glass tube into the room. It smashed on the floor, then exploded.

Thick black smoke billowed out of the doorway, but the flash powder also went off with a dozen little bangs a second as it hissed and crackled, spitting fat white sparks. Thomas ran towards the door as he heard Tate start to bark and people shouting, and wished he had a weapon. He saw, through the dim light, Tate growl at some unseen shadow and lunge through the door, leaping up gracelessly and pulling back his lips to reveal a lot of white canine teeth. He saw Tess rubbing at her eyes, gasping for breath, and Lyle grab something small and spherical out of his pocket which he crunched between his fingers and lobbed into the smoke, and which immediately started to burn with an intense white light. More shouts from inside, then a man hurtled out of the room, and in the dim light Thomas saw that he had a knife.

The man threw himself at Lyle, who jumped back clumsily, grabbing without any particular skill for the knife wrist, and falling back as the man kicked out at his ankles. Thomas saw Lyle stagger and lose his balance, slipping in the damp mud and falling painfully, the man on top of him. He saw Lyle’s grip on the man’s wrist falter and then a furious Tess leapt from the smoke and the fog and threw herself on to the man’s back, wrapping her hands around his neck and clinging to him. He heard a scream - Tess had bitten the man’s ear. He heard another scream - Lyle was holding something small, square and rectangular against the side of the man’s face. As Thomas got near enough to see, he realized it was the magnet from Lyle’s dynamo. As it touched the man’s skin, he screamed and writhed, throwing Tess off and falling to one side, clawing at his face.

As the last of the sparks died, Thomas reached the front of the house - mere seconds had passed. Tess kicked the man lying on the ground, though he didn’t seem to notice, while Thomas helped drag Lyle back up to his feet. Lyle shoved the magnet at him, said, ‘Take this, and don’t let it go!’ and drew out of his pocket a pair of test tubes that he held with more diffidence than he had held the others. He hurled one down into the doorway and waved at Tess and Thomas to back away. Tate, smelling the ammonia as it sloshed over the battered stones, whimpered and galloped in the opposite direction. Lyle held the other test tube, ready to throw, and called out to the now dark and silent house, ‘Come on out!’ Silence. He took a breath, swallowed and called feebly, ‘It’s the police! You’re definitely surrounded!’ Silence. ‘Don’t make us come in there!’

‘Please,’ added Tess under her breath.

A shadow moved against the dark. Lyle saw the gleam of fish-like teeth. ‘Why, Mister Lyle.’

He saw the crossbow swing up, the brass tip on the brass arrow gleaming dully, and threw the test tube at the feet of Mr Dew. It smashed, the liquid inside met with the ammonia nitrate spilt across the cobbles, and this time the explosion ripped up the damp mud and shattered the wood of the half-open door. In the smoke and the confusion that followed, Thomas charged screaming at the man. He didn’t really know why he did it, and later, when he thought about it, was the first to admit it was probably a bad idea; but his hands struck the man full in the chest, and the magnet he held hit him too, and to his surprise Mr Dew staggered back clutching at his chest and calling out in pain. Thomas felt his heart race and bunched his fingers into a fist around the magnet, and swung it for all he was worth at Mr Dew’s face. His fingers hurt like hell, and he wondered if he’d broken something, but to his delight and amazement, Mr Dew staggered back, and looked at
him
with fear in
his
eyes.

Outside, Tess hopped from foot to foot impatiently. ‘What do we do?’

Lyle peered into the darkness of the house. ‘Oh, Christ,’ he muttered, and barrelled inside. He saw Thomas swing another punch at Mr Dew, then felt a hand land on his collar and someone, or something, rise up behind him, and grabbed the knife an inch from his throat. ‘Teresa!’

Tess looked around through the smoke and rubble, saw a loose plank of splintered wood, blasted out of the door, grabbed it, turned and swung it for all she was worth at the man who held Lyle. She hit him across the shoulders and saw him stagger, pushing Lyle in front of him against the still shape of Bray. She thought, Hold on, hold on
. . .

Then Mr Dew had pushed past Thomas and was running away into the darkness, and his colleague was taking his cue and following him, racing down the dark street as fast as he could. Thomas charged out after him screaming, ‘That’ll show you! You won’t ever mess with England again, will you, because we’ll always be here you
. . .
you
. . .
you infidels!’

Lyle followed Thomas into the street at a more demure pace, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. His own face was grimy and, like Thomas’s, sheened with sweat. He patted Thomas gently on the shoulder and said in a surprisingly soft voice, ‘All right, lad, I think that’ll do.’

Tess walked up to join the three of them as they looked into the darkness and to catch her breath. Finally she managed to gasp, ‘So
. . .
uh
. . .
we won, right?’

‘Well
. . .
’

Behind Tess rose the third and final man. One side of his face was bruised red, black and purple in the shape of Lyle’s magnet. His eyes were wild, his hands shaking and his expression one of pure hatred. He grabbed Thomas by the hair, dragged him into the street and laid a brass knife firmly across his throat. Lyle started after him instinctively, but the man tightened his grip and shouted in a harsh voice, ‘You want the child alive? Keep back, keep the iron away!’

Lyle froze. So did Tess. The man grinned. ‘Your iron will only shed blood, not save it,
Mister
Lyle. A child’s blood on your hands.’

The knife pricked Thomas’s throat. Lyle said in a soft tone, ‘Thomas, when he goes forward, you go forward too, understand? ’

And Thomas realized that Lyle wasn’t actually looking at him, but at a shadow behind him.

He felt the first bullet enter the man behind him, jerk him forward, and he went forward too. He heard the second bullet more than felt it, but the third one he could feel as the man’s chin jerked against the back of his neck. The retort died slowly away as the man toppled forward, and he toppled with him, worming out with each breath a trainload of puffing, each muscle shaking and wobbling, so that he felt as if there was a second skin under his skin which sensed what happened inside, as well as out. He crawled away, shaking and terrified, and Lyle was there, grabbing his shoulders, demanding, ‘Lad! Lad, look at me, breathe, you’re fine, you’re fine, he’s dead now, just look at me and breathe
. . .
’

He saw Tess standing by the wall, staring at the body with an expression of horrified fascination that twisted into something strange and miserable only at the very, very corner of her mouth. Then he glanced up and saw the shadow of a man wearing a crooked top hat, pistol still gleaming in his right hand, looking down at him. Then the man turned and ran in the opposite direction, where the fog and shadows quickly consumed him.