The lead brown suit turned his attention from his colleagues to Kulpreet. ‘It’s calibrated to each individual Assassin,’ called the lead brown shirt over his shoulder as he came forward to Kulpreet. Behind him the two thugs had grown bored of inspecting the blades and dropped them to the table, and she wanted to look over at them, to check their position, but didn’t dare.
She was thinking about that fail-safe switch.
‘Well, well, she’s awake, said the grinning inquisitor. ‘Looks like it’s time to begin.’
He picked up the pliers but then made a show of pretending to reconsider and dropped them back to the table with a clunk. ‘Maybe I won’t be needing those,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘I mean, it’s not as if it’s a difficult question, the one I have to ask. “Did you put Jayadeep Mir to death three years ago, or was he banished to London instead?” It’s quite straightforward really.’
He looked at her, but if he was hoping for a response she didn’t give him the satisfaction. He continued. ‘You see, pretty one, we have a colleague in London who was a British army officer who spent some time in India, and he heard all about the extraordinary Jayadeep Mir, and now he’s met a rather extraordinary Indian boy in London and what with one thing and another he wonders if the two might be one and the same. What do you have to say about that?’
She said nothing but when he stepped to one side and retrieved the pliers she was able to see past him and check the position of the blades. Now she needed to check the stability of the table, and she feigned a helpless fury, shaking herself as though trying to wrench free. The men shared an amused glance but she’d learnt what she needed to know: the table was not secured to the floor, but it was heavy, too heavy for her to tip by herself. She’d need help to do that.
But if she could tip it, then maybe she could reach one of the blades.
‘Water,’ she said softly.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said the inquisitor. He’d been turning the pliers over in his hand, staring at them fondly. ‘What was that?’
She made as though she were too parched to form words. ‘Water …’
He leaned a little closer. ‘What did you say?’
Was he close enough to grab with her teeth? She had two chances to do this, and this was one of them. But if she messed it up …
No. Best to wait. Best to try to lull him into a false sense of security.
And so, as though making a Herculean effort, she managed to say the word ‘water’ audibly enough for her inquisitor to hear, and he stepped away, beaming.
‘Ah, I thought that’s what you said.’ He indicated to one of the men who disappeared then reappeared a few moments later with an earthenware mug that he placed on the table in front of her.
She made an attempt to reach for it with her teeth before fixing him with a look of appeal, and with a smile he picked up the mug and lifted it to her lips, excited at having this beautiful woman so much in his control that she needed help even having a sip of water. Oh, how he was going to enjoy what came next. The inquisitor was a man who enjoyed his work. He was good at it; he was an expert when it came to inflicting …
Pain.
It shot up his arm. With her teeth she had clamped on to his hand and she wasn’t just biting him, she was eating him. Oh my God, she was eating him alive.
He yelled in agony. The mug dropped but didn’t smash. Kulpreet kept her teeth clenched on the inquisitor’s hand, tasting sweat and dirt and wrenching her neck at the same time, maximizing his pain and using every ounce of her strength to bring him closer. At the same time she tipped the legs of the chair out to one side, resting all her weight on her forearms as she used them to slam into the inquisitor’s shins, sending him off balance and increasing the speed of his downward journey so that at last he sprawled to the table, face breaking the earthenware mug as he made contact, and if that added to his pain then great, thought Kulpreet, but that wasn’t her main objective, because what she needed to do now was …
And with all her might and using the weight of them both, she bore down on the table, which tilted so the blades came skidding down the surface towards her waiting fingertips. The inquisitor was in the way so she couldn’t even see them come but she felt one reach her fingertips just as he managed to yank his hand free of her mouth, and she gasped with her own pain as one of her teeth went with it. Blood and torn flesh were round her mouth but she didn’t care about that now; all she cared about was the blade she was turning over in her hands, feeling for the fail-safe. Over the body of the inquisitor she could see the other two men exchanging an amused glance before reaching for their kukris, because, after all, what could she do? The odds were not in her favour. Even with a blade she was still tied to a chair, and there were three of them and a locked door. Skilled and clever and lucky as she was, there wasn’t enough luck in the world to save her now. They knew it, she knew it. They all knew how this would end: she would tell them what they wanted to know and then she would die.
Kulpreet realized this of course. But the object of getting the blades was not to use on her captors.
It was to use on herself.
But still, thank God for small mercies, because she had the opportunity to take one with her and so as her thumb went to the fail-safe switch, she did what looked like an odd thing: she brought her face close to the throat of the inquisitor, who was still trying to pull free of her. She brought her face close to his throat as though she were trying to look at something closely there, and because of the position of her arms it looked as if she were taking him in a lover’s embrace, pressing her flesh to his.
One of her captors realized her true intention but it was too late. She had already rammed the blade housing up to the inquisitor’s neck and then, with her eye still at his throat, released the blade, which shot through him and into her.
Just before Kulpreet died she thought of all she had done. She thought of her husband and little boy at home, who would be wondering where she was. She even thought of poor old Ajay – Well, I’ll be joining you soon, old friend – and she thought of the Brotherhood and wished it well, and it was with a heavy heart that she knew the struggle for a better and fairer world would have to continue without her.
And as the point of the blade drove through her attacker’s neck and into her own eye and into her brain, Kulpreet knew this was a better death than the one they had planned for her, but she wondered if it was a noble death. She had told them nothing, and she hoped that would count for something. She hoped the Council would decree that she died with honour.
44
Two days later on the harbour at Amritsar, three men in brown suits intercepted an Assassin messenger.
The three men killed the Assassin, made sure to retrieve the message he’d been due to deliver to London, and then bundled his body into a wagon for pig feed.
As instructed the message was handed to Templar codebreakers, who set about decoding it, a process that took them a week or so.
‘Urgent,’ it said, when translated. ‘Mission possibly compromised. Ajay and Kulpreet dead, maybe tortured for information. Suggest abort mission at once.’
And then, at the bottom: ‘Ethan, look after my son.’
45
Abberline was in the Green Man. But not drinking today. Not brooding nor drowning his sorrows. He was there on altogether more pressing business.
‘Hey, Sam, you seen Aubrey today?’
‘Not seen him for a while, Freddie,’ replied the barman. ‘No, tell a lie, he popped his head round the door earlier, on his way to Schools’ Day at Lord’s.’
<
br /> Freddie shot the barman a confused look and Sam was disgusted in return. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing in here if you don’t even know about the Eton–Harrow match?’
‘All right, keep your hair on … what’s left of it. Aubrey was on his way there, was he?’
Sam suddenly pulled a face, as though he’d said too much. ‘Well, um … no. He was on duty, wasn’t he?’
Now it was Abberline’s turn to be exasperated. ‘Look, you can’t tell me anything about Aubrey I don’t already know. He was on a skive, right?’
Sam slapped a bar towel over his shoulder and gave Abberline the kind of reluctant nod that wouldn’t stand up in a court of law.
‘Right,’ said Abberline. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. He came in here to … Oh, I know. He came in here to change his clothes, did he?’
Another reluctant nod.
‘All right,’ said Abberline, sliding off his stool and about to make for the door. ‘When he comes back for his uniform, tell him I’m looking for him, would you?’
‘Bloody hell, everyone wants old Aubs at the moment, don’t they?’
Abberline stopped and turned. ‘Come again?’
‘Like I say, seems like everyone wants to talk to Aubrey.’ Again Sam was wearing a queasy look, as though he might have said too much.
‘Put a bit more meat on those bones for me, mate. Who exactly is looking for Aubrey, apart from me?’
‘Three geezers came in not long after he’d left for the match.’
‘And what did they look like?’ asked Abberline and then felt his heart sink as Sam gave him a description of the three punishers.
Not knowing what else to do, he headed for Lord’s, but immediately regretted it when he found himself swimming against the tide of humanity leaving the ground. Cabs were stopping and turning tail. Nearby, a horse snorted and stamped its feet. The weight of people became too much for an Aunt Sally owner and he began packing quickly away. Same for the stallholder who called for the shoving, ebbing crowds to mind out, mind the bloody barrow, as little hands reached to grab produce from his stall. Another was pushing a cart away from the crowds, through a sea of bonnets and caps and children carried on shoulders. Abberline felt something drag his clothes and looked down to see a dog weaving through a forest of legs.
Despite the crowds the mood was genial. A good time was being had by all. The masses certainly enjoyed cheering on the sons of the nobility as they played their annual game, that was for sure, thought Abberline. One day the high-born progeny would be doing what all the upper classes did: lining their pockets at the expense of the lower orders, taking their fun where they found it and who cares if they ruin a few lives in the process.
And no, he didn’t find Aubrey. He found lots of drunks passed out in the road. Found lots of women trying to sell him matches and posies. Found lots of swells and ladies in posh frocks looking down their noses at the drunks and match-sellers. But no Aubrey.
He went back to the Green Man.
Sam shook his head; there had been no further sign of Aubrey, and no, not the three men either.
The punishers, that’s who it was, them at the line. He’d be paying those rail works a visit unless Aubrey turned up pretty soon. One more place to try, though, and he took himself to Aubrey’s rooms in Stepney, where he lived with his wife and two children.
Mrs Shaw opened the door and relaxed when she saw his uniform. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘You’re Freddie Abberline?’ When he nodded she burst out with, ‘Well, haven’t we heard a lot about you! Children, come and meet the famous Fresh-faced Freddie.’
She had ruddy cheeks but was otherwise opposite to Aubrey in every way, being slight where he was well built, and while he wore a permanently nervous and bewildered expression, she was an entirely different kettle of fish, beaming with welcome and fussing about her hair as she invited her guest inside.
Two children, a boy and a girl, both around five or six, came running, only to skid to a halt, cling to her skirts and gaze at him with the kind of naked curiosity that only children can get away with.
Abberline’s heart, already heavy with worry for Aubrey, sank a little more at the scene. It would have been easier to keep a safe distance between him and the things Aubrey loved. Seeing them like this would only make things harder if what Abberline feared was true. Most of the time he envied men like Aubs, who went home to wives and families, but not at times like this. Not when you saw what you left behind.
‘I can’t stay, Mrs Shaw, I’m afraid,’ he said, reluctantly having to dampen the warm welcome he was being given. ‘I was just wondering if you knew of Aubrey’s whereabouts at all?’
The smile slid off her face, replaced by a look of immediate worry. The two children, sensing their mother’s sudden distress, clung on to her skirts more tightly, eyes widening into frightened saucers.
‘No, not since he went out this morning,’ she said.
‘On his way to Lord’s?’
She chewed her lip. ‘I can’t rightly say.’
‘I know he was on his way to Lord’s, Mrs Shaw, but the match is over, and I was wondering if he’d returned.’
‘Maybe he went for an ale in the Green Man?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘That’s it. I’ll take my leave for there, if I may, and wish you all the best, and if you’d let Aubrey know that I’m looking for him then I’d be much obliged.’
And Abberline did just that. He took his leave. He went back to the Green Man, just in case, and Sam shook his head and said no, and then Abberline went to the station, just in case, and the desk sergeant shook his head no, with a suspicious expression, as though he knew Aubrey had been on the skive. And then, lastly, Abberline went to the rail works, where he stood by the fence and looked over the site. The work continued: fires had been built as they were every night and braziers glowed on the mudflats. As Abberline waited there, a steam train pulled in from further up the line and the activities on the wooden cranes grew even more frenetic as navvies began to unload the spoil.
But Abberline wasn’t looked at that. He was keeping his eye on the office. He watched as the door opened and out came the Indian lad, clutching his files.
Good, thought Abberline, finding it a reassuring sight. For some reason he doubted any harm would come to Aubrey if the Indian lad was around.
‘He is indeed on the side of the angels. He’s a good man. A better man than either you or I will ever be.’
What Abberline saw next was an even more reassuring sight. Coming out of the office were the punishers, all three of them, as casual as you like. And if they were here, well, then they weren’t out there somewhere, hurting Aubrey. Abberline wondered if maybe their paths had been similar to his own. Perhaps they had reached the Green Man and been sent to Lord’s where they had been deterred by the crowds.
Yes, he thought, turning away from the fence and putting the site to his back. Yes that was it. Hopefully by now, Aubrey was safely back in the bosom of his smiling family …
His landlady lived on the ground floor and she appeared the minute he showed his face. ‘Busy day, constable?’ she said.
‘You might say that, ma’am,’ said Abberline, removing his helmet.
‘Too busy to tell me you were expecting a delivery?’
He looked at her sharply. ‘A delivery?’
‘Three gentlemen delivering a large rug, so they said. Must have been a bloody heavy rug too, because it took all three of them to get it up there …’
Abberline was already mounting the stairs.
Th
e bastards had left the body sitting up in one of Abberline’s chairs, as though awaiting his return. They’d left it there as a warning.
They’d beaten him to death. He was barely recognizable beneath the puffed-up, livid flesh, bulging bruises, closed-up eyes, and the blood that oozed from cuts made by brass knuckles.
‘Oh, Aubrey,’ said Abberline.
It’s not like they’d been friends, but … Wait a minute, yes, they had been friends, because friends supported one another. You could turn to them for advice. They helped you think about things a different way. And Aubrey had done all that and more for him.
Before he knew it, his shoulders were shaking and tears dropped to the boards of his room. ‘Oh Aubrey,’ he repeated through a wet mouth, wanting to reach out and embrace the man, his friend, but at the same time repulsed by what they had done to him, his features pummelled away like so much tenderized meat.
Instead he tried to imagine Aubrey as he was, telling him music-hall jokes in the Green Man. Mourning the death of a slum girl. He had too much compassion, that was Aubrey’s problem. He had too much heart for this world.
And he wondered what it would have been like for Aubrey in his dying moments. They would have demanded information of course. They would already have known about the Indian from the bodyguard, so what might Aubrey have told them? About the man in the robes, perhaps. As if it mattered now. The other day Abberline had told himself the killing had to stop and yet the whole business had claimed yet another life, a precious one.
Maybe Aubrey was right. Maybe there were no answers. Maybe you just had to accept that once in a while.
For the time being, he simply stood with his friend, Aubrey Shaw, shoulders shaking, tears flowing more freely now.
‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said over and over again. ‘I’m so bloody sorry.’
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