Honour be Damned

by David Bishop

  Maintaining that professional detachment would not be a problem in this case, Agent Goodnight decided. Yes, Dante had a certain boyish charm and he was closer to her own age than most subjects she lured into bed and betrayed. But he had the subtlety of a sledgehammer and almost as little wit. He had been putty in her hands thus far, if somewhat harder when placed between her toes. Nevertheless, he clearly did not suspect her motives, believing himself to be worthy of her undivided attention and lust. The arrogance of the man! No, arrogance was the wrong word, she thought. Cockiness - yes, that best described Nikolai Dante: cocky.

  A whisper of static through the train's public address system got her attention. "If those passengers on the eastern side of our carriages care to look out their windows, below us they will see the physical anomaly known as the Watford Gap. Decades ago a devastating and utterly unexpected earthquake tore a hole out of this area of Britannia. Within minutes a bustling metropolitan conurbation was gone, swallowed by the ground. All that remains is the hole where once the city of Watford stood - hence its name, the Watford Gap. According to legend, if you look closely enough you can see the ghosts of all those who perished in that tragedy."

  Penelope had seen the gap before but never from this height nor at night. She peered through the window and was struck by how beautiful even a scene of such devastation could look at night. The jagged edge of the chasm was well lit but the yawning absence where a city had once stood was nothing but blackness, like a ragged mouth in the night. No, wait, there was something moving across the darkness - several somethings. Penelope looked closer and realised the shapes were between the train and the topographical anomaly below. They almost resembled insects, a swarm of them buzzing through the air, moving ever closer to the Flying Scotsman. But no insect should be large enough for her to notice at this distance, should it?

  Within seconds Penelope was out of her seat and striding briskly from the dining car. She had to find Dante and find him fast. A death squad of Rippers was surrounding the train in mid-air and there could be little doubt who they were looking for. She had scant minutes to conceal their quarry before the Rippers boarded the Flying Scotsman and hunted Dante down.

  Her mind raced with questions. How had they traced him here? Yes, their genetically engineered senses were remarkably effective tools, but even they could not detect a single person's DNA on a sealed train without having been directed to this location. Either someone had spotted Dante on board and called in the Rippers, or else her last communication to the princess had been intercepted. Either way, somebody wanted Dante dead by any means necessary. Unleashing the Rippers meant whomever gave the order did not care who got hurt in the process.

  Penelope spotted Dante walking along the corridor towards her, still adjusting his bulging trousers. "I was coming to fetch you," he said warmly.

  "No need. Come and see my cabin," she replied, grabbing his left hand and dragging him along after her. "I promise you an experience you'll never forget."

  "Sounds intriguing," he said, jogging to keep up with her. "Why the rush?"

  "I've had my fill of flirting for one night," Penelope said. "Appetisers are all very well, but eventually you want to savour a nice piece of flesh."

  "I couldn't agree more."

  "Good," she said hurriedly as they reached the door to her compartment. Penelope unlocked it and shoved Dante inside, then followed him in and relocked the door. "Strip!"

  "Sorry?"

  "Get your clothes off!"

  Dante's face split into a broad grin, then he tore off his jacket. "I was wondering how long you'd be able to resist getting your hands on me. Not that I'm complaining about your use of the feet," he added, as he removed his leather boots, tossing one over each shoulder. "Your toes are remarkably skilful. But I find fingers have a lightness of touch that few other parts of anatomy can match, don't you?" In the time it had taken him to finish his speech, Dante had peeled his shirt off over his head and stepped out of his trousers. He was standing in the centre of the compartment, both hands doing their best to hide the borrowed g-string that singularly failed to conceal his rising excitement. "Now what?"

  Penelope studied the words "GET IT HERE" emblazoned across Dante's underwear. "You seem like a broad-minded individual. How do you feel about trying a little bondage?"

  For the last time, listen to me, the Crest insisted. This woman-

  "I like to think of myself as tri-sexual," Dante replied. "I'll try anything once."

  "Good," Penelope said, gathering the rest of his clothes. "Give me your underwear and then lie face-up on the mattress." She watched him comply, resisting the urge to laugh as he clambered willingly onto the luxurious, four-poster bed. Penelope made a neat pile of Dante's clothes by the compartment door, then reached for a small case resting on a nearby side-table. She extracted a pair of black handcuffs and held them aloft. "I'm going to give you a night you'll never forget."

  As head steward on board the Flying Scotsman, it was Gordonstoun's job to ensure nothing disturbed or upset his passengers. A panicked call from the front of the train had brought him running, forcing the portly attendant to abandon his usual station during the dinner service. When he saw the sinister squad of hollow-cheeked hunters sniffing their way along a corridor, his heart fluttered with terror. A dozen knife-wielding maniacs in black cloaks, suits and stovepipe hates certainly qualified as disturbing in Gordonstoun's estimation. Despite his inner fears, the steward stood his ground outside the dining car, refusing to let the Rippers pass.

  "I don't care whose authority you claim to have for your dreadful intrusion, I am responsible for the care and welfare of all those on board this train. I will not have you frightening the passengers or staff with your bully-boy tactics," Gordonstoun maintained.

  The Rippers' leader sneered at the steward, a grey moustache quivering with repressed rage. "You shouldn't be takin' liberties with us, guv'nor - we slice and dice the likes of you for breakfast without thinkin' twice." He held the point of his left dagger close to Gordonstoun's throat while the right dagger reached underneath the steward's kilt. The blade scratched its way up one of Gordonstoun's legs, edging ever closer to his unprotected groin. "One slip of my knife and you'll be singing with the boy sopranos for a long, long time, if you catch my drift. Now, get out of my way, you officious nonce!"

  The head steward stepped aside, his bottom lip wobbling as tears filled his eyes. Gordonstoun stared at the floor as the Rippers shoved past, too ashamed to meet their gaze. Dear god, he prayed, let them find whichever poor soul they're searching for quickly. Maybe they'll leave us in peace after that.

  Penelope secured one end of the black handcuffs around Dante's left wrist, pulling his arm up over his head to the hefty wooden post at one corner of the bed. She stretched forward over Dante to feed the other end of the cuffs behind the post, her velvet-covered breasts brushing across his eager face. "Now give me your other arm," she commanded.

  "Do I have to?" Dante asked. He was busy using his free hand to caress Penelope's firm but well rounded buttocks. "It's having quite a good time where it is." His fingers slipped sideways to explore between the top of her supple thighs.

  Penelope sighed, reaching back to extract Dante's groping hand and yanking it up to meet the other end of the cuffs. "That's better," she said, clamping his wrists together.

  "Ouch!" he protested. "Do those have to be so tight? I'm not big on pain."

  "A typical male," she sneered, climbing off the bed. "Happy to savour the pleasures of sex, but you never stick around to face the consequences." Penelope stood back to admire her handiwork. Dante was lying naked on the mattress, his wrists clamped together above his head while each ankle was secured to the resolute wooden posts at the other end of the bed by carefully knotted silk scarves.

  "So, what do we do now?" he grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  "I noticed earlier you were wearing a pair of women's underwear."

  "Like I said, I'll try anything once.
"

  "Good." Penelope disappeared into her dressing room for a few moments, then returned with several pairs of delicate lace panties. She held them up for Dante to see. "Which of these do you prefer? The black or the red?"

  "They'd both look good on you," he replied. "Come to think of it, aren't you a little overdressed? Feel free to strip off and join the party."

  "Oh, these aren't for me," Penelope laughed. "They're for you."

  "You'll need to untie my legs first to get them on me."

  "True," she agreed, approaching the bed. "But I had something else in mind." Penelope pulled down the front of her gown and let her breasts spill out in front of Dante's mouth. He stretched forwards and opened his lips wide, eager to put them around her aroused nipples. Instead he found both pairs of panties shoved into his mouth. Confusion crowded his face and he started to gag against the fabric. "Breathe through your nose," Penelope urged, "otherwise you're likely to drown in your own vomit."

  Dante struggled to follow her instructions, puzzlement evident in his eyes as Penelope hoisted her gown back into place. "I haven't got time to explain," she said, "but this is for your own good." After that she ignored her captive, instead searching through a small case containing bottles of scent and eau de toilettes. "Yes, this should do the trick," Penelope decided, choosing one particular bottle of perfume from among the many. She removed the lid and tipped most of the contents over Dante's writhing, thrashing body. An overpowering odour of sandalwood and musk filled the compartment, eradicating every other smell. "This is called Bitch, it's the new fragrance from the House of Klein. In small doses it stinks like a tart's boudoir at low tide, so it should mask your natural body odour quite effectively."

  Dante yelled and howled in protest but his cries were muffled most effectively by the mouthful of lingerie. Penelope looked at his crotch and smirked. "Not quite so cocky now, are you?" She strode to the outer door and pulled it open, then tossed Dante's clothes and boots out into the corridor. She emptied the last of the perfume over the spot where his garments had been lying. "There, that should do it. Now to lay a scent." Penelope went out into the corridor and closed the door, gently waving to her prisoner as she departed. Dante heard the door being locked, then the sound of something being dragged along the corridor towards the rear of the hover-train.

  I tried to warn you, the Crest sighed.

  Dante attempted to reply but his words were all but unintelligible thanks to the improvised gag in his mouth.

  What was that?

  Dante tried again.

  The handcuffs? They must be made of a special compound that suppresses your cyborganics. Dante spoke again, another garbled collection of grunts and noises.

  If I had to guess, I'd say Ms Goodnight is an operative for one of the local intelligence agencies. She seems remarkably resourceful and well equipped.

  Another outburst came from Dante.

  I was referring to the handcuffs, not her décolletage, the Crest replied. Even tied up your libido is more active than your brain, isn't it?

  Dante simply shrugged.

  Penelope hurried towards the back of the Flying Scotsman, dragging Dante's clothes behind her. As she approached the final carriage the translucent disc in her ear began to vibrate. She pressed a finger against the device, activating its two-way communications link. "Agent Goodnight responding."

  "This is her royal highness, Princess Marie-Anne. Have you located the fugitive Dante?"

  "You know bloody well I've located him! Why have you sent in the Rippers? I had the situation under control, now you've forced me to compromise my cover!"

  "What are you talking about? I didn't send the-" A scream of static cut through the transmission, forcing Penelope to pluck the tiny device out of her ear. It bounced against a window, then fell to the carpet. Seconds later the static was gone, no sound issuing from the comms disc. Penelope retrieved the small circle but could get no response from it. Someone was jamming the signal, cutting off the outside world. The Rippers must be closing in.

  After checking the final carriage was unoccupied, Penelope threw Dante's clothes and boots inside it and locked the connecting door... Next she smeared her make-up and rubbed her eyes, forcing them to look red and weepy. Lastly she tore the top of her dress, letting it hang limply from one shoulder, and removed one of her shoes. The sound of heavy footfalls running towards her became audible. Penelope burst into tears and staggered slowly away from the final carriage. The Rippers appeared, knives drawn, the lust for blood all too obvious.

  "Please, you've got to help me!" Penelope whimpered. "This man, I think his name was Dante - he attacked me! He dragged me into the final carriage and tried to have his way with me. I managed to fight him off and lock him inside. He was bleeding, I don't know if he's dead or alive!" She broke down in tears, her ordeal apparently too much to bear.

  "Don't you worry, miss," the Rippers' leader vowed in a broad Cockney accent. "If that scum ain't dead already, he will be by the time we've finished with 'im!" The other Rippers leered their approval, light glinting off their blades.

  Penelope pointed with a shaking hand. "H-He's through there..."

  The twelve Rippers moved as one, storming along the corridor to the final carriage. The locked door was quickly dealt with and the death squad rushed inside. Their leader picked up the discarded clothes and boots, sniffing them suspiciously. "I smell his stench on these rags, boys! The Russian bastard must be in one of these compartments! Spread out and start searching."

  Penelope waited until all twelve were busy with their manhunt before returning to the connecting doorway. She closed and locked it again, then smashed the glass on a small box marked with the words "EMERGENCY CARRIAGE RELEASE - WARNING! DO NOT ACTIVATE WHEN TRAIN IS IN FLIGHT". Penelope shoved her fist into the large red button. A warning klaxon sounded and a stern male voice announced carriage separation would commence within ten seconds. The leader of the Rippers reappeared in the corridor opposite Penelope, uncertain what was happening. His confusion turned to anger as the automated countdown began. He ran to the adjoining door but could not undo the lock in time. Penelope waved as the countdown reached zero, ignoring the Rippers' threats.

  With a hiss of hydraulics, the Flying Scotsman's final carriage uncoupled itself and tumbled away, turning end over end as it fell from the sky, plummeting into the black emptiness of the Watford Gap. Penelope watched as the Rippers' flying mounts raced after the descending carriage, but they could not catch up with it in time. In less than a minute the detached section of train had disappeared from view, along with its unscheduled cargo of DNA-sniffing psychopathic killers. "Secret agents one, Rippers nil," Penelope said with quiet satisfaction.

  SEVEN

  "However the devil is clad, he's still the devil."

  - Russian proverb

  "Traditional Highland dress for men has changed little over the centuries. Scotland may have been renamed Caledonia and transformed into a tartan tourist trap, but the kilt, sporran and Sgian Dhub remain much as they always have. A true kilt is made of eleven ounce quality pure worsted tartan, with a three buckle fastening and double fringed apron edge. Over the crotch any decent wearer will rest their sporran, a large pouch made of leather and fur that hangs from the belt. Below the knee is the kilt hose, usually an off-white sock or stocking often worn with flashes on adjustable garters.

  Slotted into this on one leg is the Sgian Dhub, a small dagger held in an ornamental sheath. For the feet it is still traditional to wear ghillie brogues, the black leather shoes that have served Scotsmen for over a millennium. Above the waist a white shirt is most common, sometimes laced together across the chest. Last but not least is the Prince Charlie, a cut-off black wool jacket with gleaming silver buttons. Only the most crass of kilt wearers also sports a tam-o'-shanter, the brimless wool cap with a bobble in the centre. If you must indulge in this act of millinery madness, at least match the tartan of your hat with the tartan of your kilt. But whatever else you do, a true Highlan
der never wears underpants beneath his kilt. Your sporran will protect your modesty, so let everything else hang free as nature intended."

  - Extract from What's Scot to Wear,

  2670 edition

  A polite knock at the compartment door woke Penelope shortly before dawn. With Dante handcuffed to the bed and snoring loudly, she had spent a fitful night on the chaise longue. The stench of Bitch still lingered in the room, like flatulence under a duvet, but with more acrid intensity. The knocking persisted so Penelope pulled a robe over her crimson silk pyjamas and approached the door. "Who is it?" she asked meekly.

  "Gordonstoun, your steward," a familiar voice replied worriedly.

  Penelope opened the door a fraction and peered out. The portly attendant was wringing his hands in the corridor, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Yes?" she asked, her voice becoming more forceful. "Surely breakfast is not for at least another hour?"

  "You are correct, madam. This regards another matter entirely," Gordonstoun said apologetically. "It seems there was an incident late last night. We were boarded by Britannia Intelligence agents. They refused to explain their presence and began searching each carriage. Shortly afterwards the last section of the train fell into the Watford Gap, apparently with all the intelligence operatives on board. Our head office has asked me to take a full inventory of passengers, to ensure none were lost in this unfortunate incident."