by David Bishop
Dobie laughed. "With a name like that, how dangerous can she be?"
"Goodnight has lured more men and women to their doom than you've had hot dinners."
"Her feminine charms won't work on us," Boyle said, shaking his head dismissively.
"Why not?" Rucka asked.
"We prefer our lovers a little more butch," Dobie replied. "Don't we, Ray?"
Boyle blew a kiss at his partner.
The inspector sighed. "Nevertheless, Agent Goodnight is a resourceful woman, she could get the better of you two. Kill her and you'll have the entire secret service hunting you to the ends of the earth. But Dante cannot be permitted to return to London alive. He's too dangerous."
"You're the boss," Boyle agreed. "One last question - why us? Why not send your own men after this fugitive?"
"You two may be the scum of the earth, but you're the best," Rucka said. "I've read your files - you've never failed a contract. Don't start now." He consulted his watch. "If I were you, I'd already be en route to Nottingham. Every minute you spend talking with me is a minute wasted, and you don't have time for that. Good day, gentlemen."
Gordonstoun breathed a sigh of relief as the Flying Scotsman landed on the tracks outside Nottingham. He had been a crew member for ten years, working his way up from the lowliest position to become head steward. In all that time he had never experienced as many incidents as he had since leaving London on this journey. The shenanigans involving Ms Goodnight and her "husband" were nothing unusual - aristocrats and the rich were perpetually using the train as their love-nest for adulterous interludes. Even the use of handcuffs and other bondage paraphernalia were not unknown among certain passengers. But to have the train boarded by a dozen Rippers, that was exceptional. Gordonstoun did not relish the prospect of preparing a report for head office when the train finally got back to London. Perhaps I can delegate it to one of my assistants, he thought as the Flying Scotsman braked to a halt at Nottingham Station.
The head steward banished such musings to concentrate on ensuring the large group of travellers leaving at this station took all their belongings. A typical passenger was a foreign visitor who wished to see Britannia in style, and the Flying Scotsman provided that style: sedate, luxurious, old fashioned and yet simultaneously ultra-modern with its innovative use of hover-technology. But this particular party had come from all over Britannia simply to ride the train between London and Nottingham. There were far cheaper and quicker options available to them, but they had willingly paid full price for one night aboard the train. Ours is not to reason why, Gordonstoun reminded himself. Life on board would be a lot less hectic once they were gone.
He moved through each compartment, checking closets and drawers and under the beds for any forgotten possessions. Besides the usual selection of discarded stockings and lonely shoes he also uncovered five sets of handcuffs, several rubber masks and what looked suspiciously like a metre-long double-ended black dildo. "Perverts," Gordonstoun muttered while locking the items away in his personal locker. If nothing else they should make for amusing presents at the crew's Christmas party. Gordonstoun was so busy he missed the news flash broadcast in Nottingham Station as the passengers finished disembarking.
Penelope tugged her left arm, jerking Dante down the stairs on to the platform. The fugitive was still bitterly nursing his testicles and almost lost his footing. "Diavolo, what's your rush? Some of us are still recovering," he protested.
"The only thing I hurt was your pride," she snapped. "Stop touching your groin, it makes you look like a pervert."
"I doubt the handcuffs are making that image any better."
Penelope's face lit up as she spotted an information board beneath a huge holographic display. She dragged Dante towards it, passing three junior stewards in strange garb. Each was acting as a gathering point for the Flying Scotsman's day trips.
"This way all those passengers who want to visit Nottingham's castle!" the first steward shouted, ushering a handful of people towards a waiting bus. He was wearing a jerkin of simulated chainmail and clasping an unwieldy pikestaff.
"Everybody who wants to savour the Robin Hood experience by having lunch in Sherwood Forest, come with me!" cried another steward, clad in ungainly green medieval clothes. Like the first option, this was drawing only a handful of passengers.
"All those bound for the historic country estate of the Fforbes-Lamington family, gather here for transportation," the third steward called out. She was dressed in a pink hunting jacket, light brown jodhpurs and black leather riding boots. An enthusiastic crowd quickly gathered around her, all demanding to be taken to the country estate. "Golly!" she said, somewhat overwhelmed. "I didn't know we would get so many of you today! I'll have to go and arrange for a larger coach to transport everybody." She made urgent signals to another staff member for help.
Dante observed all this with little interest until he saw a familiar figure among the passengers lining up to visit the castle. When the man looked around, Dante could clearly see a goatee beard and mournful expression. "That's him! He's one of people who tried to kill the king," Dante said excitedly, jerking his manacled arm to get Penelope's attention. But by the time she turned to follow his gaze, the man had vanished among the crowds on the platform.
"What is it?" she asked.
"One of the other passengers on the train, he was an accomplice to the assassination attempt on King Henry. That's why I got on the Flying Scotsman, I was following him!"
"You're claiming to be innocent?"
"Of trying to kill the king? Yes, of course!"
Penelope did not look impressed. "You would say anything to escape execution."
"Of course, but for once in my life, I'm telling the truth," Dante insisted. "You're not giving me a chance to clear my name!"
"Why should I believe you?"
"Help me catch the real killer and I'll show you."
Penelope shook her head. "This is a ruse to distract me - and not a very good one."
"What have you got to lose by trusting me?"
"My job, my reputation, my chance of promotion - almost everything, in fact."
"Why won't you listen?"
"Because you're a liar, a thief, a conman, a rogue, a brigand and one of the most wanted men in the Empire. If our positions were reversed, would you believe me in such circumstances?"
"No," Dante admitted.
"There, you see-"
"But I'd still give you a chance to prove your innocence."
Penelope shook her head. "Then you would be a sentimental fool."
"Better that than a cold, heartless bitch more interested in furthering her career than discovering the truth. Don't you believe in justice?"
"I believe in what I can see, hear, taste, touch and smell," she snarled. "Everything else is irrelevant. Now, let's get moving." Penelope shoved Dante towards the exit, but they had only a few steps when a woman's voice boomed through the station's public address system.
"We interrupt your regular programming to broadcast this news flash. According to sources within the intelligence community, one of Britannia's own secret service operatives may be a co-conspirator in the attempted assassination of King Henry. A leaked document suggests Agent Penelope Goodnight has links with the fugitive Nikolai Dante, who has already been found guilty of his involvement. It is believed she may be attempted to smuggle Dante out of the country. Police and other law enforcement agencies have already been placed on high alert in the search for Dante. No picture of Agent Goodnight is currently available, but the authorities hope to publish such an image within the next few hours. Thank you for your attention."
"It seems we're partners in crime," Dante observed. "Welcome to my world."
"This isn't right," she protested. "I've done nothing wrong!"
"Now you know how I feel." Dante held open his arms. "Group hug?"
Penelope slapped his face instead. "You did this! Somehow you've dragged me down to your level. I need to find a policeman, tell th
em they're got it wrong..."
"Oh yeah, that works every time," he said. The smirk on his lips was wiped away when she started waving frantically at a policeman who had wandered on to the platform. Dante grabbed her arm and pulled it back down. "Fuoco, what are you doing?"
"Trying to get his attention."
"You'll get both of us arrested or executed where we stand! Your boss may have wanted me captured alive, but the police have shoot to kill orders - and they know what I look like!"
"You're right. We need to find a place to hide, give ourselves a chance to think." The people waiting to visit the Fforbes-Lamington estate were now being loaded onto coaches nearby. "We'll join the back of that group, lose ourselves amongst them for the rest of the day while I figure out what's gone wrong." She strode towards the queue, dragging Dante along behind.
He pulled the tam-o'-shanter forwards to hide his face as they passed the policeman. "You've changed your tune all of a sudden," Dante commented once they had joined the queue.
"What are you talking about?"
"Five minutes ago I was a liar, a thief, a conman, a rogue and one of the most wanted men in the Empire. You couldn't care less what happened to me, as long as you got the credit for bringing me to justice. Now 'we' need to find a place to hide and figure out what's gone wrong. Since when did we become a team?"
"Since somebody in Britannia Intelligence turned me into a fugitive like you," Penelope said angrily. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm happy about this. But you're right - as far as the authorities are concerned, we're partners in crime now." Their queue was diminishing rapidly as the last passengers clambered on to the coach. Dante couldn't help smiling. "What's so funny?" Penelope demanded.
Dante held up his right wrist, the one handcuffed to her left arm. "Bet you're wishing you hadn't swallowed that key now, right?"
"Don't remind me!"
EIGHT
"Many words, little truth."
- Russian proverb
"The Fforbes-Lamington estate is one of Britannia's last remaining examples of a country seat still owned by the landed gentry. Over the past nine hundred years financial strife and mismanagement have bankrupted most of the families that once held feudal rights to vast sections of the countryside. Historic estates were broken up, parcels of land sold off piecemeal to developers and turned into soulless housing dormitories. Happily, the Fforbes-Lamington estate outside Nottingham did not suffer this ignominious fate.
The family has kept hold of its assets and even added to them in recent decades, thanks to adroit acquisitions by the head of the household, Audrey Fforbes-Lamington.
A formidable woman in every sense of the word, her first husband died of a heart condition. She temporarily lost possession of the estate for four years, then married immigrant businessman Dick Revere, who had bought it at auction. He died within a year and Ms Fforbes-Lamington reverted to her maiden name. Few visitors are allowed on the estate, which is said to be guarded by an extensive network of security droids. Once a year Ms Fforbes-Lamington holds a weekend of events for a select few friends. Invitations for this event are among the sought after items on Britannia's social calendar - gatecrashers are certainly not welcome."
- Extract from The Smirnoff Almanac of Fascinating Facts, 2673 edition
Dante and Penelope were still arguing as they tried to find a seat on the last coach. The hover-bus was filled with passengers Dante recognised from his brief visit to the train's first class lounge the previous night. One of them, a slender man with silver-grey hair and a bushy moustache, stopped the duo as they came down aisle. He grabbed hold of the handcuffs for a closer look. "I say, what an unusual pair of handcuffs! Wherever did you get them?"
"They were a gift from her royal highness," Penelope said archly. "Now, if you'll excuse-"
"You see, I was wondering where I could get a pair," the man persisted. "Mine are almost worn out from years of abuse, so I'm always searching for a good replacement."
"They're a one-off, specially commissioned by the Tsar himself," Penelope snapped.
"Is that a fact? Fascinating!" the passenger enthused. "Well, I'll let you go get changed." He shifted his attention to a leather bag on the seat next to him. "Now, where did I put my cuffs?"
Dante noticed the back row of the hover-bus was empty and led a bemused Penelope to the vacant seats. The two fugitives took shelter in one corner, away from the prying eyes of the other passengers. "I thought you wanted to find a place to hide so we could plan our next move?"
"That wasn't my fault," Penelope said. "I can't help it if some old pervert wants to know where I got these handcuffs, can I?"
"No, but telling him they were a gift from the princess is not what I call keeping a low profile," Dante snapped back. "Diavolo! You've got a lot to learn about being a fugitive."
"And you'd be an expert in that, having been on the run most of your life!"
"Can I help being popular?"
"I didn't realise shoot-to-kill orders were a sign of popularity," Penelope sneered.
Dante, I-
"Not now, Crest! I'm pointing out a few facts to Agent Know-It-All here."
But I've recalled where-
"I said not now!" Dante said, before switching his attention back to Penelope. "I've been the most wanted, most hated, most hunted man on the planet, but few have caught me and nobody has kept me. I trained with James Di Grizov, the greatest escapologist in the Vorovskoi Mir, the Thieves' World. You might have lured me into bed, but I would have got away again long before you ever got me back to London. Nobody keeps Nikolai Dante under lock and key for long!"
Penelope applauded him with slow handclaps. "Congratulations."
"Why?"
"Never have I met a man more full of his own self importance than you."
I've remembered where I recognised all those-
Dante smirked. "Crest, I think the lady protests too much."
"What?" Penelope demanded.
"Almost every time a woman says she hates me, it's usually because she hates herself for wanting me. The Tsar's daughter Jena was just the same. She couldn't decide which she wanted most: seeing me dead, or getting me in bed."
"Trust me," Penelope vowed. "My hatred for you is strictly personal."
Dante reached for the hem of his kilt. "Sure you don't want another peek at the goods, see if they change your mind?"
She slapped his hand away. "Please, it's not long since I ate breakfast - don't make me throw it all back up again."
Will you listen to me for once in your miserable, misbegotten life, the Crest raged.
Dante winced in pain from the shouting in his mind. "Fuoco! All right, all right, I'm listening! What's so important I should stop flirting with Penelope here?"
"Flirting?" she spluttered. "You call this flirting?"
"You love it," he replied with a lecherous wink. "Well, Crest?"
I've been trying to tell you I remember where I recognised the other passengers.
"Go on, then, don't keep me in suspense."
Before the war, you went to Venice with one of your Romanov half-sisters, Lulu.
"She's a member of the Cadre Infernale - she wanted me to join," Dante recalled.
Penelope frowned, struggling to make sense of the conversation while only Dante's words. "I've heard of the Cadre. It's a secret society for aristocrats and politicians from across the Empire, allowing them to indulge in decadence and vice without fear of scandal."
The people on the train, the Crest continued, are all members of the Cadre Infernale.
"Are you sure?" Dante asked.
Absolutely. It took me this long to identify them because almost everyone you saw at Venice was naked except for their masks.
"So how were you able to recognise them now?" Dante became aware of Penelope tapping him on the shoulder. "Not now, the Crest is trying to tell me something important!
"So am I," she replied. "Look!"
Dante twisted his head round to find the ot
her passengers on the hover-bus gathered around them. All were dressed in rubber and leather bondage garb. Most of their faces were covered by black, studded masks, while male genitals fought to escape from obscene posing pouches and women's breasts dangled from cup-less chain brassieres. Each of the passengers were clutching whips or handcuffs, several also had riding crops and cattle prods in their hands. Dante's face fell as he surveyed the perverts clustered around him and Penelope. "Would it be stating the obvious to say I have a bad feeling about this?"
Boyle was piloting the Phord Capri as it approached the outskirts of Nottingham. He tipped the sleek hover-car over into a banking manoeuvre. Dobie cursed from the passenger seat. "Watch it, Ray! Some of us are trying to pluck our eyebrows."
"You mean clear a path through the undergrowth of your mono-brow?"
"Jealously will get you nowhere. I simply have an excess of testosterone in my system that requires a little more care and attention when it comes to grooming."
"Dobie, you spend so long looking in a mirror, it's a wonder you don't go blind."
"I like looking at beautiful things. Can I help it if I'm one of them?"
Boyle rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling too. "Where's this train station then?"
His partner pointed through a gap in the clouds. "At a guess, I'd say where those train tracks all converge."
"From what I hear Dante's a slippery customer - you ready for this?"
Dobie pulled a ludicrously hefty handgun from a holster in his left armpit. "You knew me, Ray - I was born ready."
Dante and Penelope were rigorously searched by the other passengers during their journey to the Fforbes-Lamington estate. Dante had nothing to lose since he was already in borrowed clothes, but an unhappy Penelope was forced to surrender a small pistol, her boots and wristwatch as the coach landed outside a pair of ornate, wrought iron gates. Silver security droids took custody of the two unwanted guests. Dante and Penelope were frog-marched from the vehicle by the two-metre tall mechanoids. Once the bus had entered the estate, the droids shoved their prisoners inside before the gates slid shut. A sky-sled appeared overhead, slicing through the air like a metallic magic carpet. The sole augmentation to its utilitarian design was a handrail above the outer edge at waist height. The sled dropped from the sky and the mute droids stepped up, dragging Dante and Penelope behind them. The words "HOLD ON" flashed on the floor twice.