"So it is decided?"
The voice was rough, with a hint of cockney, but many other accents mixed into it. Spying over the top of one of the crates I saw the burly shape of a ship's captain next to the aristocratic figure of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.
A hand gripped my collar and pulled me down. Suddenly, a hard body was pressing into me from behind.
"If you intend to spy on them over the top of those crates," Mr Ambrose hissed into my ear, holding me with a granite grip, "then I suggest that you remove that blue hat before you do so. It sticks out over the top."
Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Embarrassed, I snatched the blue hat off my head. He, I noticed, had already removed his. Pity. It really suited him.
"Yes." That was the voice of Lord Dalgliesh.
"And what decision have you come to, if I may ask, Your Lordship? I don't want to appear presumptuous, it is simply a matter of planning..."
"The file is leaving this building, captain. It is going out to Isle Marbeau."
My head whipped around to look at Mr Ambrose. The file! Had he heard too? Yes. I could see that he had. His left little finger was twitching.
"If you pardon my asking, Your Lordship..." The captain's voice was hesitant. "Why did you keep it here at all? Wasn't that a bit... risky?"
I looked over the wall of crates again just in time to see Lord Dalgliesh direct a friendly smile at his captain. It was the same friendly smile that a shark directs at his prey.
"Risky?" He enquired, smoothly. "Whyever would you think so?"
"Um, well, the means by which you acquired the file were not exactly... you know..."
"No. I do not know. Please, enlighten me."
The captain met the gaze of the steel-blue eyes just for an instant.
"Nothing," he said hurriedly. "I didn't mean nothing, Your Lordship."
Lord Dalgliesh nodded graciously. "I'm glad to hear that. I would be very sad to find out that my staff did not think well of me and my methods. You do think well of me, captain, don't you?"
"Of course, My Lord! I think the world of you, My Lord."
"How fortunate! Then, I believe, we can continue our working relationship in a manner profitable to us both. Now, where were we..."
The captain opened his mouth to remind his master, but then thought better of the risk of talking and shut his mouth again.
"Ah, yes!" Lord Dalgliesh raised a finger. "You were enquiring why I had not brought the file out of here at once." He met the Captain's eyes. "Doubtless you were concerned because there are so many thieves and crooks in London, and my rightful property is in danger here, am I correct?"
"Yes, My Lord. Absolutely Correct, My Lord."
"Well, I must admit, it had occurred to me to send the file to a safer location immediately. But, you see, unfortunately, it was in code."
Puzzlement spread over the captain's face. "Code? You mean like code of honour and that gentleman stuff?"
"No. I mean a secret language." Lord Dalgliesh's face was still smiling, but his right hand was speaking a different language. It had clenched into a tight fist, the knuckles white. "Unfortunately, we have not yet been able to decipher it."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something on Mr Ambrose face. His non-existent expression didn't change, but I thought I saw a dark gleam of triumph in his eyes.
"And even more unfortunately," Lord Dalgliesh continued, "the fact that the documents are encoded makes it difficult for them to be removed from London. The greatest cryptographers of the world work at here at government Institutes."
"But... now you're taking the file out of here anyway?" the captain dared to enquire.
"Yes." Lord Dalgliesh took something out of his pocket and twirled it between his fingers. The object was shiny and yellowish, and looked like some kind of pelt. It took me a moment to recognize the lock of Simmons' golden hair. The lock of a dead man. With a quick, merciless motion, Dalgliesh crushed it between his fingers, and let it fall to the floor. "I have received signs that this course of action would be advisable."
The captain stared at the remains of the lock in confusion. He didn't know what I knew.
"But... what about these code experts? If, like you said, they live here in London, My Lord..."
"I think they should be encouraged to move. Sea climate is very beneficial for ones health at this time of year. I am sure you can explain this to them, very clearly."
The Captain blanched. "Your Lordship, surely you are not suggesting..."
He trailed of. Lord Dalgliesh waited, watching him quietly. Finally, he inquired: "Yes?"
Once more, there was a friendly smile on his face.
The captain swallowed. "I... My Lord, these are important men. If they should suddenly vanish in a violent manner..."
"Violence? Dear me, who said anything of violence?" Lord Dalgliesh's smile widened a fraction. "You must have completely misunderstood me, captain. You will encourage these people to take a holiday, nothing more. I am sure they will see the benefit of it when you have explained everything adequately."
The captain's head slumped down. It was probably pressed down by the weight he knew would come if something went wrong. If something went wrong, everything would be on his head. Lord Dalgliesh's innocent smile made that clear. Lord Dalgliesh would always be innocent.
"Their disappearance will not go unnoticed," he started a last attempt at convincing his master. "The Press..."
"The Press will follow my suggestions and be discrete. I own it, after all."
"Well... not all of it, My Lord. Some of it belongs to Mr Ambrose."
The friendly smile froze on Dalgliesh's face. Around them, the workers stopped in mid-stride and turned towards the two. Silence fell over the hall, as more and more pairs of eyes fixed on them. Waves of silence spread out in the pond of the hall from the pebble that had been Mr Ambrose's name.
It seemed to dawn on the Captain that he had made a very serious mistake. The last remnants of colour drained from his face.
Dalgliesh took a step towards his subordinate.
"What," he said very kindly and slowly, in the manner of a patient headmaster talking to a disobedient child, "did I tell you about mentioning the name of this man in my presence, Captain?"
The captain's mouth opened and closed. No words came out.
"Do I need to remind you again of the consequences if this should occur again, Captain?!
"N-no, My Lord! I remember perfectly, My Lord!"
"Excellent." Dalgliesh turned again, and continued on his way. At a flick of his hand, the labourers whirled around and started to work again, twice as fast as before. "Kindly have the file brought aboard and stored in the safe, Captain. Make sure it is in a watertight pouch."
"As you wish, My Lord."
The voices receded as the two men walked down the hall. I sank to my knees, so I was completely hidden by the crates, and leaned towards Mr Ambrose, who had assumed the same pose.
"What did he mean 'have the file brought aboard'?" I whispered. "Aboard what?"
"Don't you remember?" he asked, his eyes looking into the distance. "The entrance to that tunnel down in the hall... It must lead to the docks. That must be how he gets things on ships he doesn't want the government to know about. Intriguing."
"But not in any way helpful," I pointed out.
"On the contrary, Mr Linton." There was a cold gleam in his eyes. "Think about it. They are going to bring the file aboard the ship. Its current location is probably a separate, heavily guarded room. Even people dressed up as soldiers, as we are, would not be let in without very good reason. But on the ship, things are different. People of all sorts hurry about, loading the vessel, checking security, carrying messages – it will be the ideal environment for us to retrieve the file. We will wait until it has been put aboard, then we will pretend to be part of the ship's military escort and go through the tunnel. Having acquired the file, we will not return here, but simply leave the ship at the docks, and, discarding our disguise, make our way back to the carriage."
"What a brilliant plan, Sir. Of course, it all depends on whether this tunnel down in the hall actually leads to the docks, which at present is pure speculation."
Mr Ambrose gave me a cool look. "I would rather refer to it as a hypothesis based on circumstantial evidence, Mr Linton."
"Would you indeed, Sir? And, assuming the tunnel really does lead to the docks, we will, of course, also have to worm our way through countless layers of guards and soldiers, and manage not to get caught and shot in the process."
"Naturally, Mr Linton."
The coolness in his gaze intensified. He regarded me like a not particularly interesting bug under a microscope. I knew very well what he was thinking. He was thinking I was afraid.
Well... he was right about that. But he didn't need to know that.
"All right." Taking a deep breath, I stood up again and placed the blue hat on my head. It didn't seem quite so ridiculous to me anymore. It and the rest of the uniform was all that stood between and a fate I didn't want to imagine. "Let's go."
For a single moment, Mr Ambrose looked almost—almost!—taken aback. Then he swiftly rose too, and re-hatted himself. He was looking at me out of slightly narrowed, immeasurably dark eyes.
"You are really going to come with me?"
"Naturally." Those eyes... I could drown in them, and never even want to breathe again.
"But you just told me how dangerous it is."
"Well..." I did my best to conjure up a brave smile. It wasn't easy while he was looking at me like this. My knees felt as if they wanted to give way any minute. "They say fortune favours the brave, don't they?"
"Yes!" Mr Ambrose growled. "And they are stupid. In my experience, fortune favours the powerful and ruthless."
"Well, we should be all right, then, shouldn't we?" I grinned up at him. "After all, you've got me on your side."
He took a step towards me. "You have a very singular personality, Mr Linton."
I couldn't hide my smile. "Singular? You mean special, like Joan of Arc, or Queen Gwendolen?"
"Not exactly." His hands came up to clasp my shoulders. "I was thinking more like an ifrit."
It took me a moment to realize I wasn't offended. Why wasn't I offended? And why the heck was I still smiling? He had just compared me to some kind of demon from hell!
His grip on my arms tightened. The darkness in his eyes flared.
"Mr Linton, I..." For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say more. But I should have known better. This was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. When did he ever want to say more, or for that matter, anything at all?
Instead, he suddenly let go, righted himself, and stepped past me. "We've wasted enough time, Mr Linton. Follow me!" he ordered without turning. "And be silent. If we encounter resistance, leave the talking to me."
"And if we encounter resistance that can't be solved by talking, Sir?"
Dumping the leather bag he had brought with him all the way on the ground, he opened it and retrieved an object out of it: a long object made of gleaming wood and silvery metal. I sucked in a breath at the sight of the state-of-the-art rifle. His eyes met mine.
"Leave that to me, too."
*~*~**~*~*
Mr Ambrose's snappy salute was so convincing that the guard at the entrance to the tunnel let us through without uttering a single word. He just saluted in return. I, too, attempted a salute and somehow managed one without knocking the blue hat off my head.
We stepped past the guard in silence. Before us loomed the black jaws of the tunnel. I couldn't help it – a final time, I glanced up at the giant figures of the two roaring, golden lions hanging high above us. Their eyes seemed to be trained directly on me, watching my every move, knowing I did not belong here.
"Eyes front, Mr Linton," Mr Ambrose hissed.
Hurriedly, I did as ordered and hastened my steps. The menacing glint of the golden-maned wardens above me disappeared, and the darkness swallowed me.
Or so I thought.
After a few moments, I could make out a faint glimmer farther down the tunnel. But it was very, very far off.
"Why isn't the tunnel better lit?" I whispered.
"Look around you," he said in a low voice. "Do you see any windows or ventilation systems? Both torches and gas lamps produce poisonous fumes that would be hard to get rid of in such an enclosed space. Also, if I'm right about what kinds of illicit activities Lord Dalgliesh is conducting here, the end of the tunnel will have to be completely dark for the purpose of secrecy. We will have to watch our steps very carefully. And from now on, not one more question out of you, understood? Remember, we are supposed to be familiar with this place."
Thank God I did as he told me and kept my mouth shut. Not two minutes later, a dozen soldiers suddenly appeared out of the darkness right in front of us. Light in the tunnel was so scarce that, even in their bright red uniforms, they were hardly more than shadows. Yet these shadows were armed, and looking none too pleased.
"Are the Ching Chongs still at it?" one growled.
"Ye be they are!" another answered. "Damned yellow bastards! Not a night when they can't get to bed like decent folk. And it's the likes of us that has to..."
They went past us, and soon, their voices vanished into the distance.
So the Dance of the Dragon was still going on outside, was it? I felt suddenly cold at the thought of what exactly the soldiers had been ordered to do. Why were they marching, as I was sure they were, out into the street to where the Chinese were dancing? I sneaked a sideways glance at Mr Ambrose profile in the gloom. It was too dark to really see his face. Was he feeling the chill inside, too?
Dumb question. He probably was constantly at a core temperature of -100 degrees Fahrenheit.
Up ahead, there shimmered a faint light again. Not yellowish light this time, though, but cold, blue light. The light of the moon. As we came closer, I saw that it was falling into the tunnel through tiny cracks in a wooden wall – a wooden wall which ended the tunnel.
I opened my mouth to ask "What now?" – but Mr Ambrose threw me one of his special looks, and I closed it again. He stepped closer to the stone wall of the wooden wall, which in spite of the few strands of moonlight was utterly black, and let his hands skim over it. About halfway up the wall his searching hands suddenly stopped. The fingers seemed to close around something, pressed, and pushed.
The door swung open, revealing a view of a narrow stretch of water, and a harbour wall, half covered in algae. Distantly, I could hear the sound of the Dragon Dance, and I was relieved that it sounded as if all the dancers were still alive and perfectly fine.
"How did you know there was a doorknob, Sir?"
"When you have a secret passage that nobody is supposed to be able to find from the outside, it rather makes sense to have the doorknob for the entrance on the inside, don't you think?"
Now that he said it, it sounded rather obvious. But then, how the heck would I know? This was my first secret passage ever, after all! Was it his first? I looked at his face, hard and implaccable in the moonlight. Probably not.
Carefully, he leaned out of the open door, his eyes flicking to the left and right without his head moving an inch. In a moment, he was back inside the tunnel, right beside me.
"No guards around," he said in a low voice.
"Do you think that we've somehow gone the wrong way? That the file isn't here at all?"
"I doubt it. Look."
Imitating him, I carefully stuck my head out of the door and let my eyes flick to the left, then to the right. There it was! To the right, a narrow catwalk, hardly more than a ridge, led along the harbour wall. It disappeared behind the bulk of a sleek, rather small ship with only two masts. It would have been completely unremarkable, if not for the dark, even colour of its hull, which was unlike that of any ship I had ever seen.
"You saw it?" He asked, when I ducked back into the tunnel.
"The catwalk? Yes. Cleverly done, that. You probably don't even notice it from up at the docks. And even if you do, what's the significance? But down here, you can sneak from the tunnel to any ship in the dock without anybody seeing."
He nodded. "Yes. But it's not the catwalk that worries me. I knew it would be there."
"Really? But you are worried?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It's that ship. I think it may be..."
From behind us, out of the tunnel, we suddenly heard the sound of approaching feet in lockstep. The sound grew louder.
"Quick!" He hissed, pushing me out of the door and onto the catwalk. "Onto the ship before they see us and think of asking questions!"
Suddenly, I stood in the moonlight, open and exposed. I prayed to God that there were no guards on that sinister black ship. But even if there were, what was there to see? Just another one of their own soldiers, I hoped. At the moment, however, I didn't feel very soldierly.
Behind me, I heard the door shut with a click.
He's out, I thought. He's behind you, and he's expecting you to move! Go on! Move your generous behind, he's relying on you!
And somehow, my feet, which just a moment ago seemed to be frozen to the wood of the catwalk with icy fear, started to move. The black silhouette of the ship loomed above me, its masts and ropes throwing a spider's web of shadows across the way in front of me, a web in which I would soon get caught.
I entered the web of shadows, and my heart went cold. Around the curve of the ship's hull appeared the name of the ship, painted in bright crimson that was turned by the moonlight into the colour of dried blood:
NEMESIS
Behind me, I could hear Mr Ambrose suck in a sudden breath.
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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
I would like to ask all my readers, Please, especially my honoured Chinese audience, to please excuse the offensive term "Ching-Chongs" (which is, for anyone who does not know, an offensive term for a person of Chinese descent). People in the 19th century weren't very politically correct, I'm afraid ;-) And as a diligent historical author, I have to try to paint an accurate picture of history, even if history consists of stupid insults ;-)
Thank you for your understanding!
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
P.S: Does anybody recognize the name of Lord Dalgliesh's Ship...?
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GLOSSARY:
Queen Gwendolen: A mythological British Queen who fought a brutal war with her husband for the Throne of England. Makes one appreciate modern divorce procedures, doesn't it?