Twincy Quinn and the Eye of Horus Part One (9 page)

For a brief
moment I made eye contact with the officer, and I fancied he
relayed something to me he could not do with his voice. There was
just a hint of warning narrowing his gaze, and making him appear
unsteady on his feet.

Fantastic. No
doubt that indicated that the inspector was not in the finest of
moods. An irascible man at the best of times, he flip-flopped
between almost cloying obsequiousness and downright irrational
anger.

I had been
expecting this, but it did not stop me from shifting my jaw
uneasily as I found my way out of the office. As I walked down the
corridor, I sought out whatever excuses I could. Nothing would work
though, would it? Because now Jennifer had found her way home, the
following question would arise: why on earth hadn't I solved the
kidnappings sooner? Clearly the criminals who had taken the
children were not as careful, precise, powerful, and unbeatable as
I had once proposed. And if they were none of those things, there
was nothing stopping a mildly competent member of Scotland Yard
from tracking them down.

Still mulling
over my thoughts, I found my way into the inspector's office.

It was a grand
affair. Several floors up, it had a beautiful view of London
stretching out from several large windows. The Inspector's desk was
placed looking away from them and towards the door. That fact had
always caught my attention, because it seemed to sum him up
perfectly. He didn't quite care about the beauty of the city as a
whole, all that concerned him was who walked in his door, and what
their class and credentials were. For he could get stuck looking at
the wonder of a sunset, only to miss the grand spectacle of one of
London's elite deigning to visit him. And the inspector would hate
that.

There was an
officer on duty outside the door, and I fancy he raised his
eyebrows slightly, shaking his head at me at the same time.

Shooting the
man an appropriately calculating look, I straightened my shoulders,
cleared my throat, knocked, and walked in.

The room was
large; it had to accommodate his enormous desk, after all. A solid,
expensive thing, made of mahogany, green leather, and with numerous
fancy pens, ink wells, and objects littered over the top, it didn't
seem as if it were suitable for a scrap of work, which was
appropriate, because as far as I was concerned, the inspector had
never worked a day in his life.

There were
several leather chairs placed in front of the desk, and a
decorative coffee table in the corner upon which stood a silver
salver, with fine teacups and teapot. There were also a range of
bookcases on the far wall, all showing neat-backed tomes with gilt
titles, and none of them sun-kissed, despite the enormous windows.
I fancied they were all the same. I fancied the reason they were so
neat and lined up so precisely was that they were the very same
book repeated over and over again; the inspector didn't care about
what was inside something, he only cared about its appearance. And
with the number of books on his shelves, surely it suggested to the
unobservant man, that the inspector was a most learned scholar.

He was writing
something slowly on a piece of clean white paper, pinning the far
left corner down with one hand, as he mulled over his words,
holding the pen away from his desk as he chewed distractedly on his
lip. I walked into roughly the centre of the room, turned around a
little like I was on patrol, clasped my hands behind my back, and
set my gaze evenly on a patch through the windows over his left
shoulder. It was roughly mid-afternoon now, and I watched as the
sun gently shone down on the sparkling rooftops around us. In fact,
I watched that view for another good five minutes while the
inspector finished up his letter. Possibly the most
well-thought-over letter in the history of writing.

Knowing it
would appear far too aggressive to clear my throat or ask the man
to jolly well get on with it, I found my mind turning to far more
productive things.

The kidnap.
But more than the kidnap, Jennifer's wild tale.

The woman.

Possibly the
very same woman I had seen up on the rooftops just before Jennifer
had appeared.

But . . . how? I had managed to get up onto
those rooftops, but I would freely admit, it had almost killed me.
It was no easy task, and though I was always sure to pick the
sturdiest shoes with the greatest grip, a female in all of the garb
of modern London would be liable to fall at the first gust of wind.
Not only would her shoes have been inappropriate, but her dress
would have been a significant tripping hazard.

Still staring
off through that pane of glass, my gaze softened even further.

There was
obviously so much about the situation that I didn't know. So many
surprises yet to come. Though now, thankfully, the inspector
appeared to be finished with his correspondence. Placing his pen
carefully on his pen rest, he leaned back in his enormous and
ostentatious chair. Resting his fingers together neatly as he
settled his elbows on the very edge of his desk, he took a moment
to stare at the floor, then to stare at the wall, then to stare at
the neat-backed books in the bookshelf to my right, and then
finally up at me. It was doubtless intended to be an act of
intimidation; it was meant to underline that the inspector was a
busy and powerful man, one more so than myself. Yet the effect of
it was quite the opposite, though of course I would not admit that
to him. It was too strained. It lacked elegance, it also lacked
authority. It was as if the inspector were repeating a move he had
read in a book or seen in a play.

Remembering my
days as a soldier, I had to clamp down hard not to laugh.

‘
Michael F. Stanford?’ the inspector began.

I did him the
courtesy of looking at him now, but that was all I could manage. I
was not going to reply to that rather ridiculous question. For
unknown reasons the inspector always referred to me by my full
name, truncating my middle name, Francis, into an initial. Why? I
just couldn't tell, though I knew it had something to do with the
ridiculous company he kept.

‘
I'm afraid I require you to explain yourself to me,’ the
inspector finally continued. His lips pressed together once he had
finished his last word, and that fat, often-twitching moustache of
his drew flat over his compressed lips.

I waited. He
would have to articulate the question before I would answer it. I
was going to tell this man exactly and only what he required to
know. Because though he tried desperately to manage me, I fancied I
was a little bit better at managing him.

‘
I received a message from the father of our most recent kidnap
victim,’ the inspector leaned down, and placed a hand neatly over
the letter he had just finished writing.

I tried not to
raise an eyebrow, because the ink wasn't entirely dry yet, and sure
enough, as the inspector brought a hand up, I saw several flecks of
blue pigment along his fingers and palm. ‘Apparently his child,
Jennifer, I believe, is home. Though traumatised by her ordeal, she
appears physically fine. In fact, I have been informed by the
family's doctor that she is unharmed.’

Again I did
not say a thing. I remained exactly where I was, as stiff and
dignified as I could be, staring at the inspector with an
unwavering glance. Was it just me, or did a bit of his bluster wane
as he returned my gaze?

‘
I would like for you to explain the following to me. If this
child was capable of getting away from her kidnappers on her own,
then why on earth are you not capable of tracking down these very
same kidnappers? A young girl of eight should not be more capable
than one of my detectives.’

There we go,
he was finally asking his question. Without moving a muscle, I let
my mouth drop open, keeping my gaze locked and my eyes unblinking.
‘I am at this stage unsure of how Jennifer managed to escape her
kidnappers. However, she has relayed a story, and though it sounds
impossible, I will investigate.’

Perhaps I
should not have added that last bit. If I'd been smart enough, I
would have chosen to ignore that strange compulsion that had seized
me in that moment, and I would have quickly thought of something
better to say. Yet I hadn't. For as I had stared down at the
inspector, spontaneity had overtaken me. Because I was going to do
as I had just said. Though the child's story was quite possibly
wrong, I was going to look into it anyway. The past few years had
taught me something. The world I had known with all its certainties
and truths was not the world I now lived in. From the mystery of
the machines to the mystery of the kidnappings, if I wanted
solutions, I was going to have to be prepared to look in places I
had previously ignored.

The Inspector
didn't react immediately, then, several seconds too late, he gave a
derisive snort. ‘I have been informed of Jennifer's spurious tale.
Some woman saving her from strange monsters and stealing a cart and
returning them to town. I know I have been in this business longer
than you, Detective, but let me give you a tip. Do not believe
lies. Do not believe in the impossible either, and always look in
the most obvious place for the truth.’

In a way the
inspector's advice was good. Or it would have been good several
years ago. He was forgetting something though. The truth no longer
hid in obvious places. The truth was wrapped up in magical,
mysterious machines. Objects that had specialised electricity
within them, that ran not on coal or steam, but on something else
entirely. People that had been changed, ever so slightly, devices
of wondrous brass, gold, and silver, stuck right into their
bodies.

When you faced
that kind of reality, then the truths you were comfortable with,
and the truths you were most used to finding, would not be the ones
that waited to meet you.

Yet of course
I did not verbalise any of these internal musings.

‘
I expect these kidnappings to be resolved now,’ the inspector
added, with a completely even gaze.

Of course he
did. One child got away, and now the inspector could no longer
pretend to the establishment of England that he was dealing with an
impossible force. He had nowhere to hide, so he was going to push
me forward, and sacrifice my career for the sake of his.

‘
Sir, with all due respect, I am Scotland Yard's foremost
expert on the new devices,’ my voice was controlled, my tone did
not waver, and I did not give any hint of the derision and
disrespect I held for the man in front of me. Because I was
motivated. I wanted to keep my job, and I wanted to stay exactly
where I was, because, although I could not articulate it, I felt
needed here. It felt as if London, England, in fact the world, was
on a precipice, a cliff, staring into the void below, and if a few
good men didn't stand up to protect the rest, we would soon tumble,
helter skelter over the edge.

As I said,
hardly a clear feeling and hardly a clear premonition, yet I could
not deny what it did to me. That general malaise of impending doom
had settled in over my soul since the very first devices of this
new age had come to light. There was a part of me that couldn't
help but wonder whether they belonged in this time at all. Devices
that could be used to measure the health of one's body, spotting
scopes that could be calibrated to see for miles, yet were only the
size of a coin. Electricity. Lights that ran without fire. And
more, much more. Drugs that could kill somebody instantly, and with
hardly any evidence left in the body. Drugs that could put someone
to sleep, drugs that could make someone forget their memory.

So of course I
felt as if there were a doom descending over my shoulders and
rising over the city as a whole. Even if the man in front of me
could not see that, I was not going to give up my position of
responsibility and neither was I going to forego the power I had to
make a difference. So I stood a little taller, straightening up my
back, locking my knees, and shifting my jaw up as I gazed down at
the man before me.

‘
I do not want to take you off this case,’ the inspector
brought his hands up, and gestured wide. The light streaming in
from the windows behind him outlined his jacket, hands, and
fingers. Yet the effect was not regal, nor was it divine. I did not
mistake the man in front of me for an angel. Rather he was a man
standing in the light he could not appreciate and never bothered to
look for. The Inspector preferred the glitter of gold and good
company to the true beauty of the city and sun behind
him.

‘
You have been with this case longer than any other detective,
and though you have so far failed me, I am willing to give you
another chance. I am a fair man,’ the inspector brought his hands
down, and patted them neatly on his chest. There was a sincere look
on his face, widening his eyes and drawing his cheeks
down.

It was of
course fake. There was no sincerity to be had by this man. He was
interested in one thing. Keeping his position and keeping the
goodwill of London's elite.

Realising he
now wanted me to say something, I gave the curtest nod I could.
‘Thank you, sir,’ I said simply, not seeing the need to add
anything further.

‘
However,’ he now rested a little back in his chair, letting
one of his hands drift down to the arm rest as the other one tapped
distractedly on the very edge of his desk, ‘there is a time limit.
I expect these cases, all of them, to be solved within the next two
weeks. I also expect no more children to be kidnapped. If they are,
I'm afraid I will have to take you off this case, and replace you
with someone far more suitable to the task.’