9
an unexpected encounter—the tiger and the lamb— not a ghost at the window—hide-and-seek— daniel to the rescue
Tiger, tiger, burning bright, in the bedroom of the pirate. Although not literally burning, Alice thought sourly—a burning tiger would at least be less inclined to stalk her. It had a fearful symmetry indeed about its lithe body, but Alice found herself focusing instead on its even more fearful fangs. Although a pretty pink bow had been set about its neck at a charmingly cocky angle, this somehow did not ameliorate her terror.
“Fiddlesticks,” she whispered. The open window beside her offered an escape, but as she reached with agonizing care for the sill, her hand fumbled against the rappel hook and inadvertently dislodged it. She tried to catch it but was too late: with a mocking clatter against the stone wall, her means of escape slipped away.
The tiger’s eyes flashed as if appreciating Alice’s worsening dilemma. It swayed in what she imagined was preparation for leaping, biting, tearing, and other gruesome activities.
With a wild flare of desperation, she waved a hand. “Aereo,” she gasped, trying to summon the ancient magic of the incantation.
A vase of flowers rocked gently on the bedside table.
The tiger’s tail flicked.
“Fuck,” Alice said—not strictly speaking a phrase of magic, but certainly piratical. Reaching blindly behind her, she caught hold of a large porcelain lamp and threw it as far as she could across the room.
In other words, three feet.
Thunk.
The tiger watched the lamp roll across the carpet, then turned back to Alice. Hunching down, its massive shoulders rippling with muscle, it began to creep toward her.
All the books she had read in her life flashed before her eyes. Unfortunately, none of them happened to be manuals on escaping deadly wild beasts. The tiger paused, its jaws closing. The disappearance of the enormous fangs proved less reassuring than Alice would have supposed. She watched everything about the creature grow tight and still, and realized she had seconds to live.
Sorrow rose from her heart, but her mind ruthlessly stomped it down again. Taking one last breath, she placed a hand on the windowsill and vaulted up, over—and out into the darkness.
Meanwhile, one floor down, Daniel was experiencing problems of his own.
“So interesting to see you here, Bixby,” said the man aiming a gun at his heart.
“You too, Captain O’Riley,” Daniel replied, his own gun not stirring an inch from the pirate’s heart.
“I thought you were going to Edinburgh to open a bookstore.”
“People can change their mind.”
“Not you.”
Daniel stared at the dark-haired pirate, silently calculating angles for attack, odds of getting pulverized if he attacked, and sudden painful nostalgia. For three years he’d used Alex O’Riley as a source of information and experience, cleaned his house, participated in his adventures, and come perilously close to loving the man with a depth of friendship he’d never before experienced. But the assignment had ended and the file closed, shutting away all such uncomfortable sentiments.
“Don’t be so ridiculous,” came a woman’s voice from the edge of the room. Without moving, Daniel flicked his gaze toward it. His heart followed.
Charlotte Pettifer stepped forward. Dressed in black shirt, black trousers, and tall studded black boots, her strawberry blonde hair tied back to fall in a rippling stream almost to her waist, she looked like a wicked witch—exactly what she was. She gave him a look that suggested far more danger than any her brawny pirate husband with his passel of deadly weapons could supply. Daniel knew that, with one murmured word, she could have him out the window and broken on the ground far below.
“Hello, miss,” he said with a smile.
“Don’t hello me,” she replied in that tetchy way she had, the one that warned you she was about to take your heart and shake it up, straighten it properly, then give it back to you like a gift. Before he met her, Daniel had never known it was possible to be so badgered you came to adore someone out of sheer self-defense. He’d kill for Charlotte Pettifer, not the least because she’d made Alex happy.
“Idiot,” she said. Then she turned to her husband. “You too.” She flicked a peremptory finger back and forth between the men. “Put those guns down and hug each other.”
Daniel and Alex shared an appalled glance. “I’m not hugging him,” Alex muttered, holstering the gun alongside another on his belt.
“I do not hug,” Daniel said as he returned his own gun to an inner pocket. “Besides, I saw you only two weeks ago. An effusive reunion is unnecessary.”
“It may have been two weeks for you,” Charlotte said, “but it has been fourteen long days of washing our own dishes for us.” She smiled at him then. Alex, muttering under his breath, offered a hand, and Daniel automatically shook it. All the while, his brain ran around shouting urgent orders and waving red flags, trying to forestall an eruption of emotion he absolutely could not afford. Alex and Lottie represented an old assignment, nothing more.
And his heart, sighing in defeat, packed up all its wild and hungry longings and went to hide under a blanket.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “I mean, obviously you have come for the weapon. But the captain should have done this job alone, Miss Pettifer. The castle is full of pirates. If they catch a witch—”
Charlotte shrugged. “I am not afraid.”
Daniel glanced at Alex, who was rolling his eyes.
“You should be,” Daniel said sternly. “The feud between the Wisteria Society and the Wicken League is no laughing matter.”
“Actually,” Alex said, “I found myself in hysterics last week when I saw Bloodhound Bess and the witch Mrs. Chuke fighting over the only ripe pomegranate in a greengrocer’s stall. Mrs. Chuke sent all the fruit flying, then Bess sent the stall itself flying, and—”
“Nevertheless,” Daniel interjected. “If the pirates discover Miss Pettifer’s presence, she may be in danger.” He looked solemnly at Charlotte. “Your marriage to the captain notwithstanding, miss, the ladies are in a rambunctious mood, and might use the feud as an excuse to have fun at your cost.”
“The auguries predict otherwise,” Charlotte said offhandedly—an assurance that failed to impress Daniel, since not only did he not believe in auguries, but he suspected Charlotte didn’t either. “Besides,” she continued, “we are keeping out of sight. Attics, all the usual secret passageways, et cetera. We could not overlook the opportunity this weapon affords.”
“I hear it has the firepower of two dozen cannons,” Alex said, grinning like an excited boy.
“We could blow up half of Parliament,” Charlotte added in a more businesslike manner, “and use the rubble to build schools for impoverished children.” Her expression shadowed suddenly; stepping forward, she reached out and would have touched Daniel’s ear had he not flinched back. “You’re wearing an earring. And a wedding ring. What exactly have you been doing this past fortnight, Bixby?”
At that fortuitous moment, a voice called from the night beyond.
“Let me in! Let me in!”
Turning, Daniel was astonished to see Alice’s pallid face floating behind the window’s lace curtain like a wild and lonely specter roaming the darkness in search of her soul’s master. He strode across and, pulling aside the curtain, discovered her bobbing awkwardly in the air.
“Mrs. Blakeney!” he said with stern disapproval. “What are you doing?”
“Trying not to die,” she replied. “This is an old petticoat; its incantation is faded. I can’t seem to maneuver. Would you do me a small favor, if you have a moment, and save me from plummeting to my doom far below?”
Taking her arm, Daniel hauled her through the open window. They stumbled against each other, and as Alice clutched his arms to stay upright, Daniel felt a tightening within him. The intensity of it almost caused him to push her out the window in a trained reflex he only just restrained. Instead, he stepped back abruptly in the same moment she did also, snatching her hands away from him.
“What happened?” he asked.
“A severe operational deficiency, that is what happened,” she retorted. “Why did the dossier not include mention of a tiger? Hm? Answer me that, sir. One would assume something as significant as a tiger would be mentioned, even if only in a footnote. I will most certainly be adding this to my—”
She stopped, staring past him to where Alex and Charlotte were watching the scene with amusement. “Egads, it’s the mad people!” she exclaimed in recognition—and then flushed as she realized she’d just broken her cover.
But it was too late in any case. As Daniel turned, he saw an answering recognition in Charlotte’s eyes. Trust a witch to recognize a woman she last saw a year ago, when Alice had been working undercover with the Wicken League. No doubt Alice could have disguised herself as a scantily dressed, gold-haired opera singer (he paused to envision it) and Charlotte would still know her. The witch might have made a good A.U.N.T. agent were she not an unrepentant enemy of the state whom one day Daniel might be ordered to assassinate.
“Miss Dearlove,” she said languidly, her voice rich with the promise of magic. “The last time we met you were clambering through a window too.”
“I was not,” Alice said, affronted.
“I beg to insist that I remember the occasion quite clearly.”
“There was indeed a window,” Alice agreed. “But I did not clamber through it. I never clamber. It is entirely indecorous. Except, that is, when a tiger is about to consume me.” She glared at Daniel as if near ingestion by wild cat was his fault. He stared back at her implacably, never mind the tumult of his pulse as he met her dark, glimmering gaze. (Really, as soon as this mission was over he ought to get a medical checkup.)
Alex made a noise that would have been a laugh had he been a reckless man. Daniel turned to frown at him, and the pirate bit his smile in an effort to appear innocent. But Alex O’Riley could not look innocent even if all his weapons were removed and a pink ribbon tied in his hair.
“I see you finally said hello to the pretty girl,” he remarked.
“I—I—” For the first time in years, Daniel found himself without words.
“What does he mean?” Alice asked.
“In Clacton,” Alex said cheerfully, oblivious to Daniel’s glare, “he saw you in a tavern but was too shy—”
“Too concerned with the brawl about to happen,” Daniel amended sternly.
Alex shrugged, his smile tilting with a comment he did not make aloud, perhaps out of respect for Daniel, or more likely noticing how Daniel’s hand was reaching again for a gun.
“Pretty girl,” Alice echoed with disapproval. But Daniel saw her fingers tap-tap-ing.
Charlotte saw it also. Her eyebrow went up again. “I notice, Miss Dearlove, that you are wearing a wedding ring to match Bixby’s.”
A whole gang of Wisteria Society ladies with swords drawn would not have been as terrifying as Lottie making a politely quiet comment. “I—I—” Alice answered.
Daniel instinctively came to the rescue. “She is my wife.”
Alex and Charlotte exchanged an astonished glance. And then they laughed.
Daniel bristled with disapproval. “Excuse me.”
“I am so sorry, Bixby dear,” Charlotte said, attempting to sober her countenance. “It is merely that I find it so unlikely you would be married in—”
“Sh!” Alex hissed suddenly. “Someone is at the door.”
Charlotte snatched his hand. “Aereo rapido,” she said, and the two of them levitated at speed toward the ceiling, where a gap in the wooden paneling revealed how they had entered the locked room. They climbed through it, then Charlotte’s head appeared again at the opening.
“This conversation is not finished,” she warned before sliding the panel back in place, restoring the ceiling to its normal state.
Daniel and Alice looked at each other dumbly. Then the door rattled. At once, Daniel vaulted over a sofa to crouch behind it. Alice, walking sedately around that same sofa, joined him there in the dusty shadows.
“Ooh,” she said excitedly, picking up a small book that had seemingly been tossed to the ground, its pages bent. Glancing at the cover, she wrinkled her nose and set it down once more. Daniel looked a question; “Wordsworth,” she explained.
Just then, the door creaked open.
“Empty,” came a whispered voice. “Quick, Mr. Rotunder, and lock the door behind you.”
“Yes, Gertrude dear.”
“I’m sure it will be in here somewhere. Jane Fairweather has no imagination. You search beneath that clothed table. I’ll check in the writing desk.”
“What exactly does it look like, dear?”
“Heaven knows. Dangerous. Maybe some kind of gun?”
Daniel and Alice exchanged a speaking glance.
“There’s a box of chocolates under here. Could that—”
“Sh!” Mrs. Rotunder hissed suddenly. “Someone’s trying to unlock the door. Hide!”
The sofa began to shudder. Daniel and Alice looked up in time to see Mr. Rotunder climbing over it. His wooden leg whacked Daniel in the head; his other foot stepped on Alice’s back.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Pardon me. My apologies. Could you make a little space?” The agents shuffled aside and Mr. Rotunder crouched between them. “Thank goodness for hinges,” he whispered, patting his knee, as Daniel and Alice stared at him.
The door creaked open.
“We’ll have to be quick,” came a hushed voice. “You look under that cloth-covered table, and be sure to put your gloves on first. Jane is so careless, this room is no doubt swarming with germs.”
“Yes, Jem dear.”
“And just look at the shambles on this writing desk! It is as though someone has pulled everything out of the drawers. I do declare, if the weapon is in this room, it has probably been rendered useless by dust.”
“What—”
“Hush! Is that someone at the door? Hide!”
Daniel pressed his forehead wearily against the back of the sofa—and thus escaped being kicked in the face as the great hulking body of Jake Jacobsen catapulted over to squat awkwardly in the crowded shadows.
“Good evening,” he said to the men. He nodded to Alice. “Ma’am.”
“Well I never!” came Miss Darlington’s voice. “What are you doing, Gertrude, hiding behind the drapes I was intending to use as concealment?”
Suddenly the door opened, and feminine gasps arose.
“Miss Fairweather!” cried Miss Darlington.
“Never fear, Jem! I will save you!” Jake rose like a troll whose bridge had just been overrun by goats. The sofa rocked violently as his shoulder knocked against it, bashing into Mr. Rotunder, who tipped over with a cry, taking Jake down again with him. The man’s head smacked into Alice and she lurched instinctively away. Daniel reached out to steady her before she crashed against a lamp-bearing cabinet, but his own elbow hit a vase-bearing cabinet, causing it to topple. Catching the vase before it reached the floor, he tripped against Mr. Rotunder, who fell backward, knocking Alice off her knees. Within seconds, the entire company behind the sofa was a tangle of limbs.
“Ahem,” Miss Darlington said. Her cane tapped against the floor. Like chastened children, the agents, Jake, and Mr. Rotunder clambered to their feet. They looked out across the sofa at Jane Fairweather.
Who had either aged five decades at the sight of so many people secreted in her sitting room or was in fact Miss Muriel Fairweather, Jane’s grandmother.
“What is going on?” the lady demanded, hands on hips, hair feathers flapping.
“What do you think?” Miss Darlington replied, leaning nonchalantly on her cane.
“Something nefarious!”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Rotunder scoffed. “Just a spot of light after-dinner burglary.”
Miss Fairweather’s eyes narrowed as she considered this response. Daniel held his breath. He noticed Alice slip a hand into the pocket where she kept her gun.
Then Miss Fairweather shrugged. “Sounds reasonable. Has anyone looked inside that rosewood box yet?”
“Aaaaggghhh!”
At the sudden scream arising from the corridor, Daniel just about leaped out of his skin. He and Alice immediately drew their guns. The pirates glanced mildly at the door.
“My word!” Mr. Rotunder exclaimed. “Is that a Webley Mark I revolver you’re holding, Mrs. Blakeney? Those are cracker guns, from what I’ve heard. Can I try it for a minute? Say yes.”
“Aaaaggghhh—huh—aaaaggghhh!!”
As Alice wrestled with Mr. Rotunder for possession of her gun, Daniel strode to the door. He found it locked.
Crash! “Aaaaggghhh!”
Stepping back, Daniel kicked the door, causing it to splinter (and the key to fall from its lock to the floor).
The pirates exchanged a bemused look.
“Oh dear,” Miss Fairweather said. “Jane is going to be so cross, and you don’t want to see—”
Ignoring her, Daniel pulled open the door, and raising his gun in both hands, he entered the corridor.
And nearly got run down by a conga line of dancing pirates.