‘There was one,’ Lockwood said reluctantly. ‘In the centre of the glade.’
Bobby Vernon clicked his tongue. ‘Ah! Good! Don’t tell me . . . Squared, slanting on one side, with a wide, deep groove, just like so?’
None of us had bothered to study the mossy stone. ‘Er . . . might have been.’
‘Yes! That’s the gallows mark, where the wooden post was driven. It was above that stone that the executed bodies would have swung until they fell apart.’ He blinked at us. ‘Don’t tell me you disturbed it at all?’
‘No, no,’ Lockwood said. ‘We left it well alone.’
There was a shout from one of the agents in the centre of the hollow. ‘Found a squared stone! Obvious gallows mark. Looks like someone’s just dug it up and chucked it over here.’
Lockwood winced. Vernon gave a complacent laugh. ‘Oh dear. Sounds like you uprooted the prime Source of the cluster, and then ignored it. No wonder so many Visitors began to return. It’s a bit like leaving the tap on when filling the sink . . . Soon gets messy! Well, I’ll just go and supervise the sealing of this important relic. Nice talking to you.’ He skipped off across the grass. We watched him with dark eyes.
‘Talented fellow, that,’ Kipps remarked. ‘Bet you wish you had him.’
Lockwood shook his head. ‘No, I’d always be tripping over him, or losing him down the back of the sofa. Now, Quill, since we clearly found the Source, and your agents are sealing it, it’s obvious we should share the commission. I propose a sixty/forty split, in our favour. Shall we both visit the mayor tomorrow to make that suggestion?’
Kipps and Godwin laughed, not very kindly. Kipps patted Lockwood on the shoulder. ‘Tony, Tony – I’d love to help, but you know perfectly well it’s only the agents who actually seal the Source that get the fee. DEPRAC rules, I’m afraid.’
Lockwood stepped back, put his hand to the hilt of his sword. ‘You’re taking the Source?’
‘We are.’
‘I can’t allow that.’
‘I’m afraid you haven’t any choice.’ Kipps gave a whistle; at once four enormous operatives, each one clearly a close cousin of a mountain ape, stalked out of the darkness, rapiers drawn. They ranged themselves beside him.
Lockwood slowly took his hand away from his belt; George and I, who had been about to draw our weapons, subsided too.
‘That’s better,’ Quill Kipps said. ‘Face it, Tony. You’re not really a proper agency at all. Three agents? Scarcely a single flare to call your own? You’re a fleapit shambles! You can’t even afford a uniform! Any time you come up against a real organization, you’ll end up a sorry second best. Now, do you think you can find your way back across the Common, or shall I send Gladys here to hold your hand?’
With a supreme effort, Lockwood had regained his composure. ‘Thank you, no escort will be necessary,’ he said. ‘George, Lucy – come on.’
I was already walking, but George, eyes flashing behind the round discs of his spectacles, didn’t move.
‘George,’ Lockwood repeated.
‘Yeah, but this is the Fittes Agency all over,’ George muttered. ‘Just because they’re bigger and more powerful, they think they can strong-arm anyone who stands in their way. Well, I’m sick of it. If it was a level playing field, we’d thrash them.’
‘I know we would,’ Lockwood said softly, ‘but it isn’t. Let’s go.’
Kipps chuckled. ‘Sounds like sour grapes to me, Cubbins. That’s not like you.’
‘I’m surprised you can even hear me behind your wall of hired flunkies, Kipps,’ George said. ‘You just keep yourself safe there. Maybe one day we’ll have a fair contest with you. We’ll see who wins out then.’ He turned to go.
‘Is that a challenge?’ Kipps called.
‘George,’ Lockwood said, ‘come on.’
‘No, no, Tony . . .’ Kipps pushed his way past his agents; he was grinning. ‘I like the sound of this! Cubbins has had a decent idea for once in his life. A contest! You lot against the pick of my team! This might be quite amusing. What do you say, Tony – or does the idea alarm you?’
It hadn’t struck me before, but when Kipps smiled, he rather mirrored Lockwood – a smaller, showier, more aggressive version, a spotted hyena to Lockwood’s wolf. Lockwood wasn’t smiling now. He’d drawn himself up, facing Kipps, and his eyes glittered. ‘Oh, I like the idea well enough,’ he said. ‘George is right. In a fair fight we’d beat you hands down. There’d have to be no strong-arming, no funny business; just a test of all the agency disciplines – research, the range of Talents, ghost-suppression and removal. But what are the stakes? There’d need to be something riding on it. Something that makes it worth our while.’
Kipps nodded. ‘True. And there’s nothing you’ve got that I could possibly want.’
‘Well, actually, I disagree.’ Lockwood smoothed down his coat. ‘What about this? If we ever get a joint case again, the team that solves it wins the day. The loser then places an advert in The Times, publicly admitting defeat and declaring that the other’s team is infinitely superior to his own. How’s that? You’d find that highly amusing, wouldn’t you, Kipps? If you won.’ He raised an eyebrow at his rival, who hadn’t answered immediately. ‘Of course, if you’re nervous at all . . .’
‘Nervous?’ Kipps snorted. ‘Not likely! It’s a deal. Kat and Julie are witness to it. If our paths cross again, we’ll go head to head. Meanwhile, Tony – do try to keep your team alive.’
He walked away. Kat Godwin and the others followed him across the glade.
‘Er . . . the name’s Lucy,’ I said.
No one heard me. They had work to do. In the glow of arc lights, agents under Bobby Vernon’s direction were placing silver chain-nets over the mossy stone. Others pulled a trolley over the grass, ready to carry it away. Cheers sounded, also clapping and sporadic laughter. It was another triumph for the great Fittes Agency. Another case stolen from under the noses of Lockwood & Co. The three of us stood silently in darkness for a time.
‘I had to speak out,’ George said. ‘Sorry. It was either that or punch him, and I’ve got sensitive hands.’
‘No need to apologize,’ Lockwood said.
‘If we can’t beat Kipps’s gang in a fair fight,’ I said heartily, ‘we may as well give up now.’
‘Right!’ George clapped his fist into his palm; bits of mud dropped away from him onto the grass. ‘We’re the best agents in London, aren’t we?’
‘Exactly,’ Lockwood said. ‘None better. Now, Lucy’s shirt front’s rather burned, and I think my trousers are disintegrating. How about we get off home?’
II
The Unexpected Grave
3
Next morning, like every morning that fine, hot summer, the sky was blue and clear. The parked cars lining the street were glittering like jewels. I walked to Arif’s corner store in T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, squinting at the light, listening to the city’s busy, breathless hum. The days were long, the nights short; ghosts were at their weakest. It was the time of year when most people tried to ignore the Problem. Not agents, though. We never stop. Look at us go. I bought milk and Swiss rolls for our breakfast, and flip-flopped my slow way home.
Thirty-five Portland Row, shimmering in the sunlight, was its usual unpainted self. As always, the sign on the railings that read
A. J. LOCKWOOD & CO., INVESTIGATORS
AFTER DARK, RING BELL AND WAIT BEYOND THE
IRON LINE
was wonky; as always, the bell on its post showed signs of rust; as always, three of the iron tiles halfway up the path were loose, thanks to the activity of garden ants, and one was missing completely. I ignored it all, went in, put the Swiss rolls on a plate, and made the tea. Then I headed for the basement.