The Unknown Spy (12 page)

“Another one?” Blackpitt said. “How exciting!” Blackpitt loved gossip.

“Probably too late,” Brunholm said. “I can’t imagine this character leaving any clues behind.”

They waited while Brunholm went off up the corridor and returned several minutes later fully dressed.

“Look!” Dixie said from the window. Danny went over and looked down. They were much higher up than he’d imagined, but Wilsons could deceive you like that. At the front door was a sleek black car, and beside it stood Devoy and another man.

“Wait,” Danny said, digging in the pockets of his coat and producing a battered pair of binoculars. He focused on the man beside Devoy. He was wearing a suit and a black overcoat, his hair swept back. If you saw him in the street you wouldn’t look twice, but Danny recognized the sallow skin and dark deep-set eyes.

“Toxique’s dad,” he said. “We have to keep Smyck away from him!”

“Why would that be?” a quiet voice said behind them. They turned to see the detective McGuinness.

“Detective,” Brunholm said, “I am glad to see you, though if you were doing your job I wouldn’t have been put through this ordeal.”

“Ordeal?” McGuinness said.

“A Crossbow of Exquisite Sensitivity! In my bedroom!”

“Wait here,” McGuinness said, striding off down the corridor. A few minutes later he was back with the crossbow in his hands.

“How did you do that?” Danny asked. McGuinness looked bleakly at the device.

“Its secrets are not easily uncovered. Many a good man has died learning all there is to know about the Crossbow of Exquisite Sensitivity.”

He placed the device on a low coffee table. Danny stepped forward to look at it. The crossbow was beautifully made of silver metal with intricate springs and other mechanisms. When he touched it, he could almost feel its coiled power.

“Who made it?” Danny asked.

“It is very old,” McGuinness said. “It was made by the Cherbs, who were great craftsmen.”

“That’s enough of that foul object,” Brunholm broke in. “Have you seen what it did to my bedroom? I can’t think where I will find silk wallpaper to match what it ruined, not to mention my chair.”

Here he turned and gave Dixie a dirty look. McGuinness moved to Dixie’s side.

“You’re hurt,” he said. Blood was oozing from beneath her blond hair, just above the ear.

“It’s nothing,” Dixie said. “That thing nearly got me with the second-last arrow. It was almost like it could hear me thinking!”

McGuinness parted Dixie’s hair and examined the wound.

“Inside pocket, just above the left breast,” he said to Danny without looking around. Danny fished in the pockets of his coat and brought out a battered tin with
Field Dressings
written on it in felt-tip pen. He opened it and handed it to McGuinness, who took out a tube of foul-smelling paste and smeared a little on Dixie’s wound.

“Arrow was probably poisoned,” Brunholm said. “Cherb weapons usually are.”

“There was no poison used when that arrow was made,” McGuinness said, finishing off with a plaster. “There now, but I wouldn’t recommend any schoolwork for the rest of the day, and it would be better if Danny here kept her company, just in case of any adverse reaction.” McGuinness didn’t exactly wink at Danny, but there was the hint of a twinkle in his eye.

“Of course, of course,” Brunholm said irritably, waving his hand at them before pouring himself another large brandy. “I couldn’t possibly teach them anything today.”

“Let’s go,” Danny whispered, “before he changes his mind.” He turned to thank McGuinness, but the detective was already on his hands and knees in the corridor, examining the floor through a large magnifying glass.

“This way,” Danny said quickly to Dixie. “I want to show you something.”

He led his friend toward the front of the building. He wanted to show Dixie the room that he and Les had found when they had first come up to the master’s quarters, simply as a curiosity, the way you would look at something gruesome in an old castle or museum. But as he stood in
front of the nondescript door he felt a sudden reluctance. A sign read
DEPARTMENT OF INFORMATION EXTRACTION
.

“What is it?” Dixie asked.

“Nothing,” Danny said. “We should go back.”

“Don’t be silly,” Dixie said. “Let’s have a look.”

She took hold of the door handle and pushed. The door swung silently inward. Danny followed her.

“What is … all this stuff?” Dixie whispered. There were racks and thumbscrews and devices for making you think you were drowning. There were whips and manacles and strange, cruelly shaped metal devices. And in one corner was an iron maiden, a metal coffin in the shape of a human body, lined with iron spikes.

“It’s a torture chamber,” Danny said, unable to hide his own horror. For last time he had been here, the equipment had been dusty and covered with sheets. This time, the sheets were gone and the instruments of torture were oiled and gleaming.

“I don’t think I like the look of this,” Dixie said.

“Neither do I. Who would be preparing torture instruments? And why?”

A LOOPHOLE IN THE LAW

T
he following morning Danny and Dixie were summoned to Miss Duddy’s room. Duddy taught Camouflage, Concealment and Deception, and she was breathless with excitement at the idea of preparing them for the Upper World.

“I have consulted widely with my colleagues as to what might be appropriate,” she said, “and I have selected some classic disguises for you. Now, Danny, please try this on.”

She produced a long blond wig, a caftan, a pair of bellbottoms and a string of beads.

“I believe this look is known as the ‘hippy,’ ” Duddy said, looking pleased with herself. Danny groaned inwardly.

“You will be almost invisible,” Duddy went on. “You’ll blend into any crowd.”

Duddy handed Dixie a long Afghan coat, a flowery skirt and a headband. Dixie slipped on the coat and did a twirl.

“Vandra isn’t here,” Duddy said, “but I think I’ve picked out a look that will make her totally inconspicuous.” Danny shook his head as Duddy took out a pink Mohawk wig, a torn T-shirt and a leather motorcycle jacket.

“This is the ‘punk’ look I believe is common in the Upper World,” Duddy said. “I have some makeup to go with it. Her teeth will be part of the look.”

Dixie grabbed the pink wig and stuck it on her head.

“Yes …,” Duddy said, “I do believe you can mix the two looks.”

Danny shook his head. How would they stay undercover in the Upper World?

“These are only samples of the garments I have prepared,” Duddy said. “You can look at the others later.”

“We’ll look at them now,” Danny said firmly, picking out jeans and T-shirts for them all.

T
o be fair to Duddy, Danny thought afterward, she had provided useful aids for their mission. She gave them a selection of voice dyes—sprays that changed your voice to make it unrecognizable. She gave them a small packet of fake warts and boils. Dixie turned up her nose at them, but Duddy looked serious.

“A wart or a boil on your face draws attention away from the other features,” she said. “Often a witness can only remember the gross feature.”

There were hair dyes and artificial eyebrows and various items of makeup for the girls.

“Now, Danny,” Duddy said when they were almost finished, “there is one important thing remaining—or rather two. Your eyes. Everyone will recognize and remember you unless we do something about them.”

“I could wear dark glasses,” Danny said.

“Not at night,” Duddy said. “No, that is not satisfactory. There are semipermanent eyeball inks. They involve first removing the eyeball and rolling it in the ink …”

Danny gasped. “Er, maybe not.”

“No,” Duddy said, “it takes a good deal of time for the inflammation and swelling to go down. No, we’ll have to go with a simple membrane.”

“You mean like a contact lens,” Danny said, relieved.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if it’s anything like a simple colored organic membrane placed over the lens of the eye, then you are right.”

Duddy brought them into an empty classroom and sat them down. Her face was serious.

“This is a deadly mission you are embarking on,” she said, “and I wish I could go with you to share my skills. But obviously I can’t. So you must remember the important principles: Don’t draw attention to yourself. Remember that things or people hidden in plain view are often the last to be discovered. Think stealth. Think concealment. The greatest of spies did not need disguises.
They knew how to direct attention away from themselves. The great Steff Pilkington could move undiscovered among a group of his closest colleagues, avoiding their attention by studying how they reacted to others. Keep it simple, keep it safe is my motto. Good luck!” Duddy shot to her feet, saluted smartly, then turned away, took a large handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose loudly.

Dixie and Danny looked at each other. Dixie made a face but Danny was touched.

“Steady on, Miss,” Dixie said. “We won’t be setting out for a while.”

“You never know,” Duddy murmured. “Things happen quickly in the spy business.”

T
hings did indeed happen quickly in the spy business. Ten miles away, on the road leading to Wilsons, a small black car took a bend at top speed, the rear end sliding out before the driver regained control. Behind it came a black jeep, swaying as it rounded the same corner, its powerful engine roaring as it gained on the smaller car.

The jeep was full of men, roughnecks and renegades from the nearby port of Tarnstone. They’d been sent to intercept the driver of the car at the docks as she disembarked from a ship from Grist, the great fortress of the Cherbs. She had given them the slip there, but they were gaining on her. She was taking risks with the small underpowered car and had almost crashed several times. But she had news that would not wait. She knew she must get through.

As the jeep neared behind her, she cursed her luck. For many years she had posed as a man and used the identity of John Cheryl, a trader, to get in and out of Grist. That identity had been compromised, but she had decided to use it one last time. Unfortunately, one of the agents of the Ring had recognized her on the ship. It had been a close thing to get out of Tarnstone, and now … Would she reach Wilsons?

Behind her the front of the jeep loomed over the rear of the small car. The jeep engine roared. It was going to ram! The woman spun the steering wheel to the left. The front of the jeep dealt a blow to the rear of her car and she fought to stay on the road. A piece of bodywork fell off and clattered on the pavement. At the same time there was a bang and she heard a thud as a bullet embedded itself somewhere in the car. Frantically she scanned the way ahead for help. There was nothing … except a small figure making its way nonchalantly along the side of the road. She recognized Vicky the siren, who was gazing with interest at the pursuit. Cheryl Orr leaned out the open window as she drew level.

“Vicky,” she shouted, “anything you want if you get rid of them!”

“Anything?” Vicky shouted back.

“Anything!”

Bullets churned up the pavement beside her as a machine gun chattered. Steam poured from the car engine. Then another sound crept in, a voice almost unbearably sweet and sad, speaking, it seemed, of a heart broken by terrible sorrow yet capable of infinite love. Cheryl
shredded some tissue and rammed it in her ears. She knew a siren’s song when she heard it, its endlessly seductive tones, and she had already lifted her foot from the accelerator, the song drawing her back toward Vicky.

The jeep slowed before coming to rest with both front wheels in a ditch. The men got out, moving as if in a dream, smiles on their ugly faces as they turned toward the song of the little siren who stood in the middle of the road. She was beckoning to them with her hands, but her eyes were on Cheryl, reminding her that a promise made to a siren was not easily broken.

Cheryl shrugged. There would be time to deal with Vicky later. Right now she had to get her intelligence to Wilsons.

T
wo hours later she stood in Devoy’s study, watching the master digest what she had told him.

“You are absolutely sure,” Devoy said, “it’s not some information that has been fed to you to further their own purposes?”

“I have been spying on the enemy for many years,” Cheryl said stiffly. “I am aware of their ruses.” She did not have to say that she had put her life on the line many times; Devoy acknowledged this with a graceful nod. There was the sound of feet on the stairs outside and Brunholm burst in.

“I have to presume you have heard of the disgraceful attempt on my life …,” he burst out before seeing Cheryl.

“Ah yes, the Crossbow of Exquisite Sensitivity,” Devoy said. “I am glad to see you hale and hearty, Marcus.”

“We really need to devise a strategy to protect key staff members from attack,” he said, flinging himself down in an armchair, adding churlishly, “What’s she doing here?”

“She has traveled in great peril from the fortress of Grist,” Devoy said, “to bring us some alarming news.”

“What?” Brunholm said, eyes narrowing.