by David Bishop
Penelope shook her head, plainly unable to believe what she was hearing. "You're telling me all of this could have been a wild goose chase?"
"I guess," Dante admitted. "I did see this guy's face, when a skimmer dropped towards the bridge and caught him in its headlights. I'm certain it's the same man I saw at the train station where I met you, the same man who dropped the timetable in the dining car, the same man who was in the other queue at Nottingham - it must be him. It must be..."
"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself," Penelope said.
"I know. Sorry."
Dante!
"Not now, Crest."
"Look, we'll find this guy and interrogate him," Penelope decided. "We'll soon discover what he does know. Maybe you're right, maybe he doesn't have anything directly to do with the assassins - but if he was on that bridge, he probably saw what the assassins looked like, yes?"
Dante, you need to-
"Later, Crest, okay? We're trying to come up with a plan of action. You're the one who always nags me for acting first and thinking second. Well, let me think first for once, all right?"
But the man you are hunting just walked past the corridor outside this compartment.
"He did?"
Yes!
"Well, why didn't you say something before?"
I did, I- Oh, I give up, the Crest sighed wearily.
Dante hurried to the compartment door, dragging Penelope after him. "Which way did he go, Crest? Left or right?"
Left, towards the rear of the train.
Dante tried to run in the same direction, but Penelope was slowing him down. "Come on! He's getting away from us!"
"I can't run," she said, belching heavily as they got off the train. Dante was craning his neck, trying to spot their quarry among the other passengers on the platform.
"Why not?" he asked.
"That second plate of kippers was definitely a mistake. I can feel them churning round inside me." Penelope belched again, clamping a hand over her mouth. "I need a toilet. Fast."
"Can't it wait?" Dante protested. His eyes lit up as a bald man with a goatee appeared for a moment among the crowds marching towards a sign bearing the words "PEEBLES SHOW GROUND". "There he is! Come on!" Dante hurried after the man, pulling Penelope along behind.
"You're not listening to me! I need a toilet - right now!" Penelope stopped, refusing to take another step. "Trust me, this is in both our interests."
Dante looked at the handcuffs connecting them, then at her pale, perspiring face. "Oh. Right." He glanced about, spotting a set of public toilets nearby. "Over there?"
"Over there," Penelope agreed, already striding towards the conveniences. She barged in through the door marked "LADIES", dragging Dante after her. Within were three cubicles, each with a wooden door. Two were occupied but the last was mercifully empty. Penelope shoved her way in and Dante was forced to follow, locking the door behind himself. By the time he turned round she had already peeled her catsuit down past her thighs and was sat on the toilet.
"Bojemoi! You're not going to do that while I'm watching, are you?"
"Right now, I couldn't care less what you do!"
Dante closed his eyes and willed himself not to listen.
Jean Brown loved the Highland Games. Every year Peebles came alive for this event, playing host to thousands of new faces and welcoming as many old friends. Jean might have been eighty but she never missed the Games, no matter what the weather did. Seeing the old traditions kept alive was important to her. Besides, she always hoped for a strong gust of wind when men in kilts were tossing the caber. Alas, old age had played havoc with her bladder control, so Jean kept close to the nearest public toilets. She was still on her way into the show ground when the call of nature forced her to turn aside in search of relief. Into the conveniences she bustled, relieved to find the middle cubicle was free. Jean arranged herself on the seat and let nature take its course, sighing contentedly. Then she heard a most unexpected sound from the cubicle on her left - a man's voice. What on earth was he doing in here?
"Well, is it out yet?" he asked.
"Not... yet!" a woman replied, strain and pain evident in her tone of voice. Jean forgot her own troubles and leaned closer to the adjoining wall, trying to overhear what was going on.
"If it won't come out voluntarily, maybe we need a way of inducing it," the man said.
"I can do this!" the woman snarled back. "Give me another minute, you impatient sod!"
Jean blanched at such language. What in heaven's name was happening? It sounded like the poor woman was having a baby. Of all the times and places she could have chosen!
"I know you can," the man said soothingly. "Relax and it'll come out naturally."
"Get away from me, you bastard. This is all your fault!"
"You're the one who put the handcuffs on us, not me."
Handcuffs? It was a long time since Jean had experienced childbirth, but she didn't recall handcuffs being an intrinsic part of the process.
"Ahhh - it's moving, I can feel it moving!" the woman cried out. "Here it comes..."
"I can't look!" the man said. "I think... I think I'm going to pass out!"
"Don't you dare!" his companion snarled. "We're in this together, remember?"
"I can't go through with it!"
"You haven't got a choice - we're stuck with each other until this thing comes out of me!" A fist banged against the adjoining wall, surprising Jean so much she almost fell off her seat. "Here it comes..." the woman screamed. "Here... it... comes!"
Jean had heard enough. She pulled up her bloomers, flushed her toilet and scuttled out of the cubicle, not daring to look back. Outside she bumped into two men wearing ambulance crew uniforms. "I think you should get inside there - quickly!" she urged.
"Why is that, madam?"
"Some poor woman is having a baby in one of the cubicles. I don't know if that's her boyfriend or her husband in there too, but he's no use at all - she needs your help!"
Penelope finished rinsing the key, then wiped it dry. She held the small slither of metal up for Dante to see. "Who'd have thought such a little thing could cause so much trouble."
He grimaced. "Let's not dwell on the past. Just undo the handcuffs, okay?"
She removed the metal manacles from her own wrist first, then took the other end off Dante's arm. He threw the handcuff into the rubbish chute. "There, you're a free man again," Penelope said happily. "It'll probably take a few minutes for the disabling effects to wear off, but you should have full use of your bio-blades soon enough."
"Good," he replied, rubbing the raw red mark round his wrist where the cuff had been secured. "Now, let's go and search for this assassin. The sooner we discover the truth, the better." But as they moved towards the exit, Dante and Penelope found their path blocked by two men in fluorescent green overalls, both holding pistols.
"You must be the elusive Nikolai Dante," the man on the left said, smiling cruelly. "I'm Dobie and this is Boyle; we've been looking for you everywhere."
His partner took aim at Penelope's heart. "And you must be Agent Goodnight, Britannia Intelligence's most accomplished seductress." Boyle looked Dante up and down, mentally undressing him. "Have you added this one to your long list of conquests? He's not much to look at, I'll grant you that, but I'm sure you must have enjoyed full use of his facilities by now."
"Who the hell are you?" Dante demanded.
"He told you," Boyle replied. "We're Dobie and Boyle."
"Are those names supposed to mean something to me?"
"They're bounty hunters," Penelope said. "Parasitic scum, taking on the cases the Britannia Royal Constabulary can't - or won't - handle. We've got a file on these two at HQ, filled with reports of their illegal exploits. Dobie was a mercenary who travelled the Empire, fighting in petty border squabbles for whichever side paid better. Boyle was a policeman, until his partner died in mysterious circumstances. They've got a reputation for killing without mercy or comp
unction."
"We're the best there is at what we do," Dobie said proudly.
"Top of the turds, in other words?" Dante asked.
"Kings of the shit hill," Penelope agreed. "Or should I say queens?"
"Our sexuality is irrelevant to our effectiveness," Boyle replied.
"I'll say. How long has it taken you to find us?"
"Shut up!" Dobie yelled, smacking his pistol across Penelope's face. Dante moved to retaliate but Boyle already had his pistol aimed and ready to fire.
"I don't need an excuse to kill you," he sneered. "Our employer made it perfectly clear he doesn't want you coming back to London. At least, not alive."
"How's it going in here?" an elderly voice asked from behind the bounty hunters. An old lady with snow white hair came into the public bathroom, shoving her way past Dobie and Boyle. They hastily concealed their weapons inside their overalls while glaring at Dante and Penelope. The old lady looked about, confused by what she found. "So, where's this baby then?"
"Baby?" Dante asked.
"I heard some poor lass in here, screaming in agony as she tried to give birth. It sounded like she was having the most terrible time of it, so I sent these ambulance men in to help."
"It was all a misunderstanding," Dobie said loudly at the old woman. "You must have been confused, dear."
She shot a stern look at him. "Don't tell me what I did and didn't hear, young man! I may have snow on the chimney, but there's still fire in my belly, let me tell you!"
"Of course there is..." Dobie replied, trying to placate her.
"Don't patronise me, you two-faced so-and-so! There's a terrible stramash outside, with so many people waiting to see you bring out the young woman and her baby. So, where is it?"
"Yes, where is it?" Penelope asked, still nursing the cheek Dobie had pistol-whipped. "You'll have some explaining to do if there's no baby to be seen." She took Dante by the hand and tried to lead him out of the toilets. "Come along, darling, let's go see what's happening outside. I think we've been in here long enough."
"Er... yes!" Dante said, slowly catching her drift. The pair attempted to push past the bounty hunters but Boyle was too quick for them. He pushed the barrel of his pistol into Penelope's ribs, out of sight of the old woman.
"I'll come with you. I need to fetch the ambulance for this baby. Dobie, why don't you stay here and show this delightful old lady what we found in the cubicle?"
"Good idea," Dobie agreed. "Off you go. I'll be out in a minute."
Boyle gave Dante and Penelope a shove towards the exit, then followed them out. As the old woman had promised, a crowd was gathered, waiting for news. Boyle told them his partner was still inside, looking after the baby. "Please, let us past," he called out, nudging his captives through the ring of expectant people. Once they were clear of the crowd Boyle pulled a silencer from inside his overalls and began screwing it on to the end of his weapon. "Keep walking and smiling," he urged. "The ambulance is parked inside the show ground. When we get there, you'll climb in the back. Try anything stupid and I'll kill you both in a second."
"Crest," Dante whispered under his breath. "Have the effects of the handcuffs worn off?"
Not enough for you to survive a mortal wound, it said. But your bio-blades should be available again any minute now.
"What are you whispering about?" Boyle demanded.
"He was talking to himself," Penelope replied. "He does that all the time. It's been driving me crazy. You taking him off my hands will be a relief, to be honest."
"Nobody asked your opinion," the bounty hunter said as they entered the show ground. The smell of sweat and exertion filled the air, along with sweeter scents like lavender and cherry blossom from nearby fields. The show ground was a vast field with dozens of events underway and hundreds of people in traditional Highland dress moving from one activity to the next. Kilts were the norm among all the men, with twenty different tartans on display. Boyle pushed his prisoners towards the ambulance, parked in a corner of the show ground. "Keep moving!"
A group of men was standing in front of the ambulance, arguing amongst themselves. A big, bearded man with flaming red hair loudly berated those around him. "This is a disgrace! For three hundred years our forefathers and their forefathers before them have competed at these Games and won more trophies than they had rooms in which to keep them. Now look at us - a clan with not enough men to enter the competitions, let alone win anything!"
The others shuffled their feet and stared at the grass, too ashamed to reply. Their leader glared at them one by one, his nostrils flaring and his cheeks flushed crimson with indignation. "One more man - that's all we need! One more man who can legitimately wear the tartan of the Douglas clan and then we're in business! Can we not find one more man anywhere?"
The youngest of the Douglas clan noticed the trio approaching the ambulance. He pointed at Dante's legs and laughed. "What about that Jessie in the blouse? Will he do, Tam?"
The clan's leader spun round to see where the lad was pointing. "Aye, he'll do, Alistair, he'll do!" Tam marched across to Dante, followed by all the others. "Welcome, brother! I don't know your face but you're a bonny sight for all of us, right enough!"
"Sorry?" Dante asked.
Tam pointed at Dante's kilt. "You're wearing the Douglas tartan, man!"
Say "Aye!", the Crest prompted.
"Aye!" Dante ventured.
"That makes you one of us, doesn't it lads?"
"Aye!" the Douglas clan members roared in response.
Tam wrapped his arm around Dante's shoulders. "What events are your best, laddie? Throwing the weight? Putting the shot? How about tossing the caber, we could always do with another good tosser, couldn't we lads?"
"Aye!" the others shouted back happily.
"Tossing... That's a public event here?" Dante asked fearfully.
"Of course! Once you've had your hands wrapped round a huge piece of wood, you'll be a changed man," Tam promised.
Dante looked over his shoulder at Boyle. "Perhaps you want my colleague, he's more used to wood handling than me."
Tam snorted derisively. "Don't talk pish! You're the one in the kilt, laddie!" He started dragging Dante away, but Boyle intervened.
"I'm sorry, but this man is unwell. I was taking him and his girlfriend to the ambulance for treatment. I can't let him out of my sight."
"Nonsense! Look at him - he's as right as rain!" Tam nodded towards Penelope. "That lassie's got a nasty cut on her face, that needs seeing to all right, but our man is fighting fit!"
"You go, Nikolai," she said. "I'll be fine."
Boyle searched the crowd in vain for Dobie, then stepped closer to Dante. "I'll send my partner to bring you back. Don't try to escape or else your girlfriend dies - painfully."
"What should I care what happens to her?" Dante replied.
Boyle stared at Dante. "You care. I can see it in your eyes."
The other Douglas men had already marched towards the registration desk and Tam was tugging at Dante's arm. "Come on, man, we have to get you entered or we'll be disqualified!" Dante reluctantly let himself be led away, his eyes still fixed on Boyle and Penelope. The bounty hunter was forced her into the back of the ambulance, a murderous look on his face.
Tam rubbed his fingers against the fabric of Dante's borrowed blouse. "Once you're signed up, we need to find you a better shirt. I hope you don't mind my saying, but this one makes you look soft! Now, what's your name? I missed what your girlfriend called you before."
"Nikolai D-"
"Och, you've no need to tell me your last name, I can see it on your kilt, man!" Tam slapped his meaty hand hard against Dante's back. "Welcome to the clan, Nikolai Douglas!"
TWELVE
"Luck is a stick with two ends."
- Russian proverb
"The Tower of London has been the site for a only a small number of executions, contrary to popular belief. Six prisoners were beheaded on Tower Green, among them three wives of the much ma
rried monarch Henry VIII. Another sixteen were shot dead, mostly in the Tower's East Casemates Rifle Range. These included three Black Watch mutineers in 1743, eleven spies during the First World War and a German parachutist during the Second World War. The vast majority of condemned prisoners were taken from their cells to others places in London to be beheaded or hung, drawn and quartered."
- Extract from The Smirnoff Almanac of Fascinating Facts, 2673 edition
Dobie opened the back of the ambulance, expecting to see two corpses inside: Dante and Agent Goodnight. Instead he found his scowling partner pointing a gun at the secret service agent. "Don't even ask," Boyle snarled. He jerked a thumb towards the Highland Games going on outside the front window of the ambulance. "Dante's out there somewhere, competing for the Douglas clan. You'll have to find him and bring him back here while I guard this one."
"Why not kill her, then help me look for Dante?" Dobie asked.
"Remember what Rucka said in London? We'll have the entire secret service hunting us to the ends of the earth if we kill her. Dante is our target, not her."
"Inspector Rucka?" Penelope smiled. "Of Scotland Yard? So he hired you two idiots."
Boyle lashed out with his pistol, cracking it against her face. "Shut your mouth, bitch! It may be in our best interests not to kill you, but that doesn't mean you get away unscathed."
She glared at him from the floor of the ambulance. "Keep hitting me like that and you'll be the one getting scathed," she promised.
Dobie stepped in to stop Boyle attacking Penelope. "Leave her, Ray, she's not worth it!"
"I'm worth more than both of you put together," she snapped.