The Pearl King

by Sarah Painter

  It was a party. Lydia heard elegant background music – something classical. Men in black tie and women in jewel-coloured gowns and high heels were drinking from champagne flutes, standing in little groups and talking and laughing. Picture windows filled one wall, with the lights of the city twinkling and a view of the river.

  Charlie’s hand was on the small of her back, steering her forward, when every part of Lydia wanted to fly away. ‘What in the name of…’ she began.

  ‘This way,’ Charlie said. ‘And play nicely.’

  A few people nearest the lift doors looked at them curiously as they passed, but there had been too much drink taken to raise anything other than a few eyebrows. Lydia expected screaming and, perhaps, violence, glasses thrown and the cry of ‘intruders!’ but they moved through the throng with minimum fuss. Charlie seemed to know exactly where he was going and, before Lydia had managed to get her breathing under control or adjust to the sense-overwhelm of so many Silvers in one place, they were through the main room and out into a short corridor before the door to a hotel suite was opened for them by a woman in a hotel uniform. ‘Would you like anything to drink?’ The employee asked. Lydia saw that she wasn’t in hotel uniform, after all. The clothes were too expensive, even for a nice gaff like this. The white blouse was silk and she was wearing spike heels with red soles under perfectly-cut narrow black trousers. And she was a Silver. Lydia hadn’t realised immediately because everything tasted of the cool sharp metal.

  ‘No thanks, love,’ Charlie was saying. He walked over to the window and looked out. ‘Nice view.’

  Lydia was looking around. They were in a living room area twice the size of The Fork and when an inner door opened, she caught sight of a bedroom with a bed that looked like two king-size divans put together. A bed that could sleep a football team.

  Alejandro Silver was wearing a suit which looked more casual than the sea of tuxedos in the main room, but still managed to look sharper and smarter than all of them put together. That was bespoke tailoring, Lydia assumed, with a good helping of excellent genetics. And natural power.

  ‘Charlie,’ Alejandro said, shaking his hand and barely glancing at Lydia. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘Best to get this sorted,’ Charlie said. ‘You’re looking well.’

  ‘And you,’ Alejandro said. ‘I trust the holiday season has been good to you?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘And to you.’ He nodded in the direction of the party. ‘Celebrating a good year for the firm?’

  ‘The firm and the Family,’ Alejandro said. He spread his arms. ‘We’ve been blessed.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Charlie said. ‘Now, the matter of the children.’

  Alejandro nodded. The woman who had let them into the suite, went to another door and opened it, producing from within the unwelcome sight of Maria Silver. She was wearing a blood-red floor-length gown and a silver tiara that made her look like royalty.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Lydia asked Charlie, who looked completely unperturbed. She felt her hands curl into fists, nails digging into palms. She forced herself to unclench. Produced her coin instead and held it there, secret and comforting.

  ‘Maria, my dear,’ Charlie stepped forward.

  Maria’s expression might have appeared neutral to a casual glance, but Lydia could see the suppressed fury in her eyes. She was feeling the same and a bolt of unexpected kinship shot through her. They were both here under duress, she realised, wayward children dragged to account by disappointed elders.

  ‘Mr Crow,’ Maria said, leaning in to air kiss Charlie on each side.

  ‘Charlie,’ Charlie said. ‘I am such an old friend of your father.’

  Maria’s eyes half-closed and Lydia could see a muscle jumping in her cheek. There was a pained silence before Maria managed to say ‘Charlie’.

  Alejandro and Charlie nodded in unison. Satisfied.

  ‘You don’t have a drink,’ Alejandro said. ‘Were you offered one?’

  It wasn’t a serious question, Lydia could see. Alejandro knew the woman who had let them in, whoever she was, hadn’t forgotten her duty. It was something else. A reminder that he was the host? That they were visitors in his world? What had it taken to bring Charlie Crow to the Silvers on Christmas day? Lydia screwing up, she supposed. Big time. But she was the wronged party. She was the woman who had been set up by the police. Yes, she had put Maria in jail a few months earlier, but that had been different. Maria had been guilty of murder.

  The murderess herself was staring at the floor like she wanted to die herself.

  ‘I think we should get this sorted,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s always good to see you, of course, but we need to get back.’

  ‘Of course,’ Alejandro said. ‘Maria will be your point of contact from now on.’ He didn’t glance at his daughter as he spoke. It was like she wasn’t there.

  ‘You’ll be busy with your parliamentary duties. Congratulations.’

  Alejandro held up his hands, mock humble. ‘Too soon to say, but I am daring to hope. Yes.’

  Charlie snapped his fingers at Lydia and she wondered what he wanted her to do. Beg? Roll over? Fetch a newspaper?

  ‘It will be a great honour to serve the city I love and its people,’ Alejandro continued. He sounded like a politician, that was for sure. Duck to water.

  ‘We wish you every success,’ Charlie said. ‘You have the support of the Crow Family.’

  The Silvers had had people killed. Maria had attempted to kidnap Lydia to do Feathers-knew-what, but Lydia could see the logic in Charlie’s move. The truce had to hold. It was good sense to make nice with the Silver Family and to keep the alliances strong. Especially if Alejandro was going to add political power to his arsenal. Still. It didn’t mean she had to like it. Or that she hated Charlie for blindsiding her with this meeting, rather than talking to her about it first. He was treating her like a naughty child dragged in front of the grown-ups to apologise. Sod that.

  She stepped forward to Maria, hand out. ‘Congratulations on your new position as head of the firm. They are lucky to have you.’

  Maria blinked. Then she touched Lydia’s hand in the briefest, weakest handshake the world had ever seen.

  The bolt of Silver travelled up Lydia’s arm but she plastered on a smile and offered her hand to Alejandro next. ‘To new beginnings.’

  The drive back to Camberwell was quiet. Lydia could sense that Charlie wasn’t finished, so she wasn’t entirely surprised when he refused to drop her at The Fork. ‘Day’s not over, Lyds,’ he said. ‘Duty calls.’

  She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of complaining about the surprise meeting, wasn’t going to act like the shamed teenager even if he was treating her that way. Head up, game face on and don’t show them you care. Advice from Henry Crow when Lydia started secondary school. Lydia looked into her own reflection in the window, staring into her eyes until they felt like a stranger’s. A stranger who didn’t care about anything.

  Back at Charlie’s house, the party was continuing as if they hadn’t been away. Lydia plastered on a festive smile and knocked back a whisky at her earliest opportunity. She had been given the perfect chance to tell Charlie about finding the Pearl King while they were alone in the car, but the Silver meeting had thrown her. Lydia had always known that Charlie had very rigid views on how things ought to be done, but she was beginning to realise exactly what that meant.

  A red-faced couple stumbled past Lydia in the hall as she headed to the kitchen. She was just pouring another drink when a ripple of excitement went through the party. She heard somebody say ‘it’s time!’ and the phrase was taken up, repeated.

  Charlie appeared, carrying a bundle of twigs, bound into a torch. There were cheers and hoots, people stamping and clapping and pulling on outer layers. Charlie led the way out of the glass doors and into the garden. The burning of the straw yule goat was one of the oldest Crow traditions, brought over from Scandinavia when they first landed on the British shores. ‘As you
all know, it is a great honour to light the midwinter fire. We burn the old year to usher in the new and we cleanse our world of our enemies.’

  More cheers, glasses raised and clinked together, applause. Lydia was near the back of the throng and, being on the short side, didn’t have a good view.

  ‘This year, I am pleased to announce that my niece, Henry Crow’s very own Lydia, is to have that honour. Step forward, Lydia.’

  The crowd parted and Lydia could see Charlie, the torch now lit and held aloft in front of him. The fire was bright in the darkness and she blinked, trying to clear her vision. The faces of her family were strangely lit, glowing from below as many people had picked up candles on their way out of the house. She walked through the crowd, which was now eerily quiet. Halfway to Charlie, she realised something important about the straw shape. It wasn’t the usual Yule Goat. It was a creature with pointed ears and a long brush tail. Its face was comically elongated making it look both more ridiculous and menacing at once. A fox.

  ‘Nobody messes with this family.’ Charlie’s voice carried clear and strong. ‘And we will show no mercy to those that dare.’

  He passed the torch to Lydia, the heat coming from it was fierce and she had to blink away sudden tears from the smoke. He nodded at her. ‘Go on.’

  Lydia knew what he was doing. A final bit of theatre for the Family. He was in control, he was the leader and he had brought Lydia in from the cold. Now she had to show the Family where her loyalties lay by burning an effigy which represented Paul Fox and his Family. Show him and everybody else that she wasn’t stepping out of line, that the old ways and the old alliances were holding firm and that she, Lydia Crow, was ready to follow them.

  She was a Crow and Crows didn’t flinch.

  Hating Charlie in that moment, she stepped forward and thrust the torch into the body of the fox. It caught instantly, the fire ripping through the straw, consuming the body and the head of the creature almost immediately.

  Lydia barely registered the whoops and cheers. She watched the blazing figure and tried not to feel as if her freedom was burning up along with it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once Lydia was finally released from Charlie’s house, she walked home. She needed the air and movement to clear her head and to release some of the tension which had built up. Her thoughts chased each other, looping in circles with no resolution. Perhaps she should have told Charlie about her contact with the Pearls, her suspicions that they might be working with JRB. His little performance had put her out of the sharing mood, but it was more than that. He was clearly still all-in with the Silvers and that didn’t sit right in Lydia’s gut. She thought he was making a mistake.

  Jason was watching The Princess Bride on his laptop, and there were several mugs lined up across Lydia’s desk. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said, hitting pause on the film.

  ‘It’s Boxing Day, officially,’ Lydia said, flopping next to him on the sofa. ‘Sorry I’m so late. Charlie was in a weird mood.’

  ‘I forgot you weren’t here,’ Jason said, indicating the mugs. ‘I was working.’

  ‘Christmas, Jason,’ Lydia said, mock-scolding him. ‘All work and no play…’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s not my favourite time of year.’

  Lydia instantly felt awful. Of course it wasn’t a fun day for the bereaved ghost. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I like my book, thanks.’

  Lydia accepted the change of subject. ‘Shall we finish the film?’ She went and got herself a drink and a blanket from her bedroom and curled up next to Jason to watch Westley and Buttercup and to try, very hard, not to think about Fleet.

  A couple of days later, and Lydia found herself making an odd decision. She didn’t know if it was because Charlie had not-so-subtly forbidden fraternisation with the Fox Family and it had ignited her inner rebel, or whether she was just being diligent and thorough because it made sense to investigate who had been whispering in Tristan Fox’s ear, suggesting that he set Lydia up for murder. Either way, she called the most recent mobile number she had for Paul Fox, the one he had used to call her, and was both disappointed and a little disgusted at her weakness when it was out of service.

  It made sense that Paul would have ditched his phone, but it did mean that Lydia had to head over to the Foxes’ den to find him. A thought that made her skin break out in goosepimples, but strengthened her resolve. She couldn’t walk around jumping at Fox-shaped shadows. She couldn’t do her job or live her life if she was afraid. So, she wouldn’t be afraid. She produced her coin and made it spin in mid-air about six inches above her outstretched palm. Watching it was like a meditation and, within minutes, the fear had drained away. She could do this.

  Still. There was no point being foolhardy. She might be willing to believe that Paul didn’t want her dead, but that didn’t account for the rest of his Family. She wrote a note and called her preferred bike courier, arranging for immediate pick-up. She met the courier at a Turkish cafe a couple of streets away, having given a false address as her office. She wasn’t paranoid enough to believe that every courier in London was a front for the secret services, but there was no need to let everybody know her business. She had an account with the company under the business name ‘Magpie Holdings’. Couriers were only human and the temptation might be too strong to take a peek at the correspondence of a P.I. Curiosity was a powerful motivator, after all, and there was always the chance of a little opportunist thievery.

  The courier, who had no idea of Lydia’s suspicious ruminations, removed her bike helmet before walking into the cafe, revealing highlighted blonde hair in beach-girl waves and a tan which must have come from a bottle, unless being a bike courier paid better than Lydia imagined. She took the sealed jiffy bag and Lydia signed with a fingertip squiggle on the proffered screen. ‘Guaranteed within two hours, right?’

  The courier nodded. ‘Your receipt will be emailed.’

  An hour and a half later, during which Lydia had read a book borrowed from the stack of Angel’s cast offs, which she had taken to leaving on a free library shelf at the back of the cafe, and eaten a plate of crispy fried potato rosti and eggs, Lydia’s phone rang with the number of the phone she had sent to Paul.

  ‘Very cloak and dagger,’ Paul said, approvingly. ‘What are you wearing?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’m imagining a trench coat and a monocle. Maybe one of those old-fashioned hats. Trilby?’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Never,’ Paul’s Fox charm was effective even at this distance and Lydia concentrated on breathing evenly and telling her weak physical body not to respond to him. It wasn’t entirely successful.

  ‘Stop it,’ she said, irritation breaking through. ‘This was just a courtesy. To let you know that I formally acknowledge the great sacrifice made by your Family in banishing Tristan Fox. I didn’t appear entirely trusting when you told me and I wanted to make sure it had been properly…’ Lydia paused for a moment, the correct word evading her. Finally, she finished with ‘noted’. Which wasn’t really impressive enough, but would have to do.

  ‘You checked it out, then.’ Paul said.

  Lydia kept quiet.

  ‘We should meet,’ he said, after a moment. ‘To celebrate our continued alliance. Swap notes in these troubled times.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ Lydia said, ignoring the spurt of excitement. She did not need to see Paul Fox.

  ‘I might have important information.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I will tell you when we meet.’

  ‘I’m too busy for games,’ Lydia said.

  ‘We both know that’s not true,’ Paul said. ‘See you in an hour.’

  After he hung up, a text came through with the words Imperial War Museum. Lydia hoped it wasn’t a sign.

  It was too cold to be standing around and Lydia circled the green space in front of the museum while she waited for Paul. She couldn’t help thinking about the fir
st time she had met him after returning to London, in this same place. Realising that she had reached the exit back onto the street, she turned back and saw Paul on the path behind her. The full force of ‘fox’ hit her and she realised that she must have been truly preoccupied not to sense it before she had turned. Sloppy. She truly had decided to trust him again, that much was clear. That much was alarming. Her heart leapt a little at the sight of him, too. It was an old reflex from when they had been an item. Which was history. Ancient history.

  In a concession to the cold weather, Paul was wearing a black beanie hat and a khaki green bomber jacket over his standard uniform of close-fitting black t-shirt and jeans. It was something of a relief to see that he had a small amount of human weakness.

  ‘Little bird,’ he said, stopping a respectable distance. ‘You don’t look well.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said. As soon as the words were out she could taste the lie. She felt shaky. And she wanted to sip at the flask that was stashed inside her jacket.

  Paul tilted his head. ‘Gotta look after yourself. I didn’t just banish my father to have you drop down dead of your own accord.’

  ‘Was that a joke? Are we joking about this already?’

  Paul smiled. ‘Just trying to ease the tension. I want you to relax.’

  Lydia shook her head. ‘Not going to happen. Not now, not ever. What information did you want to share? I assume it doesn’t come free?’

  ‘I spoke to Jack and the rest of them. They said that Tristan was very unhappy about us reconnecting.’

  Lydia was going to ask why but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. Besides, this was old news. If Paul had dragged her across town to hear the same apology, the same explanation, she was going to lose it. She didn’t have time for games or powerplays from Paul, she had her hands full with Charlie and her own personal spy master.

  ‘Then, some Russian told him that the Crows were planning to move against our Family.’

  ‘I remember. And I’ve already told you that wasn’t true.’