Ghosts of Empire

by George Mann

  Gabriel nodded. “I can make some calls, too. And Ginny might be able to help, even if it’s just holding them off for a while.”

  “Ginny?”

  “Long story,” said Gabriel. “Let’s just say she’s changed somewhat since you last met.”

  “Alright,” said Rutherford. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the fire. “Although she always was pretty handy with those pistols.”

  “What about the others? Regina and Hargreaves. If they made it out alive, there’s every chance they’re going to show up here looking for you. Can they be trusted?”

  Rutherford sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can be trusted. Not until we know more about what the Russians are planning. One thing’s clear, though. They’re here in force. It’s worse than we imagined.”

  “It always is,” said Gabriel. “But it sounds to me like we start with this Sabine woman. If we can get to her, we can find out what the Russians were after.”

  “Agreed,” said Rutherford. “Although she’s not going to be easy to find.” He rubbed the back of his neck, winced, and then stood, putting his hand out for Gabriel’s empty glass. “Another?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. But then I’m going to have to get back to the hotel and check in with the others.” He frowned. “What about you? You can’t stay here. If there really is someone on the inside working with the Russians, none of the safe houses are secure. And you can’t even think about going home.”

  “It’s alright,” said Rutherford. “I’ve another place nearby. A place no one knows about. I’ve always been big on insurance policies.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Another drink, and then we move.”

  Rutherford started toward the kitchen. There was a rap at the front door. He froze.

  After a moment, they heard someone scraping at the brickwork by the window, and then the newcomer returned to the door. “Rutherford. It’s me, Regina. Let me in.”

  Rutherford glanced at Gabriel. He narrowed his eyes.

  Gabriel could tell what he was thinking. Slowly, he got to his feet and crossed to his jacket. He pulled Boyd’s gun from the inner pocket, checked the safety, and positioned himself behind one of the chairs.

  He glanced at Rutherford, signaling he was ready.

  Rutherford put the glasses down on the fireplace and walked to the door. “Are you alone?” he said.

  “Yes, I’m bloody alone,” came the irritated response. “And I’m cold, wet and bleeding. Open the damn door.”

  Reluctantly, Rutherford turned the key in the lock and opened the door, holding it before him like a shield.

  “Thank you,” said Regina, as she staggered in, dripping water onto the floorboards. She looked half-drowned. Her hair had shaken loose from its ponytail, falling in uneven strands down the side of her face, and she was sporting a fresh black eye and bloodied lip. She glanced at Rutherford, then Gabriel, and then shrugged. “Well, this is a warm welcome,” she said.

  “Were you followed?” said Rutherford, as he shut the door behind her.

  “What do you think?” she snapped. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but I could do with a shot of whatever I can smell on your breath, and a seat before the fire.”

  “Alright,” said Rutherford. “I’ll see to it.” He reclaimed the two glasses from the fireplace and disappeared into the kitchen while she removed her coat and stood before the fire, a small puddle forming around her feet.

  “Are you really here on holiday?” she said, casting Gabriel a sideways glance. He’d already slipped the gun back into his belt, and he dropped back into his seat, keeping a watchful eye on her.

  “I was,” he said. “Although I admit, it’s not been the most relaxing break. And dinner tonight was a terrible bore.”

  Regina laughed, and hooked her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Well, I’m sorry for trying to kill you back there at the Fixer’s house. And thanks for your help.” She paused. “We’re still going to have to take you in, though.”

  “That can wait,” said Rutherford. He crossed to the fire and handed them both their drinks. “Gabriel’s not going anywhere in a hurry, and we need to deal with these Russians.” He leaned against the back of the nearest chair. “What happened to Hargreaves?”

  “We split up,” said Regina. “He’s gone straight to Absalom. With Boyd dead and that palaver in the street, we needed a cleanup crew, and someone suppressing the news outlets to stop word getting out.”

  Rutherford nodded. “Well there’s no point staying here. Gabriel’s going back to his hotel. This doesn’t have anything to do with him. We can pick him up when all this is over for a debriefing session with Absalom. There are more important matters to attend to.”

  Regina looked as if she were about to protest, then relented.

  “We can trust him, Regina. It’s okay.”

  She nodded her assent.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m heading home for a bath. Then we’ll rendezvous with Absalom this afternoon.”

  “You can’t go home,” said Regina. “You’re a target.”

  Rutherford glanced at Gabriel. “Alright. I’ll get a room in a hotel. I need to rest up, let the Fixer’s compounds do their work. You should go home, too, get some sleep.”

  “He’s right,” said Gabriel. “For what it’s worth. You were great out there, but you’ve taken a beating. We all have. If you’re planning to take on those Russians again, you’re going to need all the strength you can muster.”

  “I thought this didn’t have anything to do with you?” she said, her tone barbed. Gabriel held up his hands in mock surrender, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long night.”

  “Right,” said Gabriel. “That I can agree with.”

  Rutherford downed the remains of his brandy and reached for his jacket. “Come on. Don’t get comfortable. Let’s go.”

  “Alright,” said Regina. “You’re right. A couple of hours sleep, and then we meet back at the office to work out what the hell we’re going to do.”

  “Exactly,” said Rutherford.

  Gabriel stood, and crossed to the other armchair, reclaiming his cigarette case. He slid his arms into his still-wet jacket. “Good luck. Both of you.” Regina was shaking out her coat. He put a hand on Rutherford’s shoulder. “You know where to find me when you need me to help out with this Absalom business.”

  Rutherford nodded. Together, they walked to the door. Outside, the rain had finally abated. Gabriel leaned in and pulled Rutherford into a brief embrace. “I’ll trail her for a mile or so, see where she goes. Call me at the hotel this afternoon,” he whispered, before releasing him and stepping back. Regina was behind them now, still looking somewhat bedraggled.

  “You too,” said Rutherford. He turned to Regina. “See you later.”

  She nodded as she stepped out into the street, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Gabriel watched as she turned and headed off down the street. Then, with a quick glance at Rutherford, he set off behind her.

  SEVEN

  Gabriel couldn’t remember ever seeing a sight quite so welcome as the entrance of the Clarington Hotel, as he pushed through the revolving doors three hours later, stepping into the lobby and garnering the appalled stares of the milling guests. Even the footman, to whom he had spoken the previous evening before heading out for dinner, offered him an almost comical double take, before registering his distinct disapproval. Even so, it did little to dispel his sense of relief.

  The hotel had only been recently completed, and still retained a polished gleam of elegance and fashionable modernity. Sweeping curves, gold paneling and carousing statues by a bubbling fountain gave the place a glamorous appeal—not least because it had already become renowned as a haven for popular jazz singers and rich out-of-towners, people who wished to paint the town red while courting the lens of the daily newspapers. Gabriel, of course, had been keeping something of a lower profile.

  He’d followed Regi
na all the way to what he presumed to be her apartment building in Kensington, before doubling back to Chelsea and the hotel. Regina had walked swiftly and pointedly, avoiding the main thoroughfares but otherwise taking a relatively direct route from the safe house. If she was Rutherford’s mole, she wasn’t giving anything away. Not yet, at least.

  He couldn’t help wondering what had become of Hargreaves, however. Had he really gone directly to this “Absalom” character, or could he have given Regina the slip for a more sinister purpose? He supposed anything was possible, but he made a mental note to remind Rutherford to remain vigilant around the other man.

  He felt his stomach growl at the wafting scent of bacon and eggs as he crossed the hotel foyer, making for the elevators. It was nearly eight o’clock, and many of the other guests were coming down to breakfast, dressed in their impeccable morning suits and elegant daywear. He smiled at them gleefully as he drew their stares.

  The elevator attendant—a young man in a smart red jacket with brass buttons—held the door for him, noticeably wrinkling his nose as Gabriel entered the confined space. Gabriel leaned against the rail, and began dusting ingrained muck from the front of his jacket. His sleeve was torn, the fabric hanging loose at his elbow.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Gabriel looked up, and smiled. “Seventh floor, please.”

  The attendant eyed him suspiciously, finger hovering over the button. “Um, well, are you certain, sir? I mean to say: is everything quite alright?”

  Gabriel’s smile broadened into a grin. “It will be, when I’m soaking in the tub with a Bloody Mary,” he said.

  The attendant looked dismayed at the very thought. Without another word, he averted his gaze and thumbed the button. He stood facing the doors as the indicator dial ticked away the floors, and refused to make further eye contact with Gabriel for the duration of the ride, not even to encourage a tip as Gabriel bundled out into the lobby on the seventh floor.

  As the doors shut behind him, Gabriel caught sight of himself in a mirror. He supposed that, in his present state, he didn’t much look like he’d be worth hitting up for a tip. In fact, he looked like he’d spent the night in an alleyway amongst the detritus and the trash—bedraggled, filthy and bruised.

  With a shrug, he set off along the corridor toward his suite. An elderly woman was emerging from her room a little further along the passageway, but when she saw Gabriel coming, she quickly retreated, disappearing back into her room and hastily closing the door behind her. He hurried past, rounded the corner, and fished in his pocket for his room key. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost it while he’d been rolling around in the street the previous night. He located the door to room 321, turned the key in the lock, and went in.

  “Gabriel!”

  The relief on Ginny’s face was palpable the moment he walked through the door. She was sitting on a sofa in their hotel suite, and she jumped immediately to her feet, running over to throw her arms around his neck. She squeezed him so tightly that he had to prise her off in order to breathe. Then, as if suddenly registering the condition of his clothes, the swollen lip and livid bruise on his cheekbone, she stood back, still gripping him tightly by the shoulders. She looked him carefully up and down, her face creased in concern. “Where have you been? When you didn’t come back last night we tried the hospital, but they told us Peter had been discharged. It was all I could do to stop Felix setting out on a manhunt. Heaven knows you can look after yourself, Gabriel, but you might have sent word.” The words spilled out in a sudden cascade, as if seeing him had somehow released a pressure valve.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, breaking free of her embrace and heading over to the drinks cabinet, where he splashed a large measure of brandy into a glass. He leaned against the wall, and downed it. The alcohol burned his throat as he glugged it down. “I was busy.”

  “Busy?” He could sense that Ginny’s concern was threatening to bubble over into frustration. “Look, how’s Peter?”

  “He’s okay,” said Gabriel. “Despite everything. His people took him to some ‘fixer’ guy, who patched him up. I’m not sure how they did it, but he walked out of there with just a few aches and pains.”

  Ginny was frowning. “But those wounds…”

  Gabriel nodded. “Believe me, he looked almost as good as new.”

  “And you were there all night?” There was no accusation in her tone; she’d long ago reconciled herself to Gabriel’s unconventional lifestyle and irregular hours.

  “No.” He reached for the bottle and poured himself another large measure of brandy. “Look, Peter’s in trouble. When we left the safe house, the car was ambushed. We were attacked in the street.”

  “By whom?”

  “By Russians.”

  “Russians?”

  “Yes. And they were wielding some kind of strange energy, opening these glowing portals in the air…” He trailed off, peering into his glass. Even now, it seemed unreal.

  Ginny seemed to be taking it in her stride. He supposed that was only to be expected—being possessed by a shard of an Ancient Egyptian goddess had given her a somewhat broader perspective than most. “And where’s Peter now?”

  “Safe,” said Gabriel. “We managed to get away. But there’s trouble brewing here, Ginny. Those Russians—they’re dangerous, and they’re after something. Rutherford is caught right in the middle of it.”

  “And so are you. That’s what you’re going to say next, isn’t it? That whoever these Russians are, they know who you are, now. That you’re not sure if we’re safe here anymore, that maybe Felix and Flora and I should get out of here, head to Paris or Amsterdam for a few days while you stay behind to help Peter. That you can’t leave a friend in need, no matter how dangerous it might be.” She walked over to him, took the brandy bottle out of his hand, and took a long draw from it, before putting it back on the cabinet and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Well… I…” Gabriel stammered. “I guess so, yes.”

  “Well you know what you can do with that idea,” said Ginny. She met his gaze; there was fire in her eyes.

  “Listen. I know we’re supposed to be here on vacation. To get some rest. And I’m sorry. It’s just I can—”

  She waved him quiet. “I mean you’re damned if you think I’m running away. And I know Felix will feel the same. Peter is our friend, too. So if he needs help, then we’re all damn well going to give it to him.”

  Their eyes locked, and for a moment he felt he could feel the power behind her stare, the tempest within, stirring, willing him to defy her. Then a smile cracked on his lips, and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch, too, and suddenly they were both laughing at the absurdity of it all. Still laughing, he stepped closer, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

  “You need a bath,” she said, a moment later, pushing him away.

  “Funny enough, I was just saying that to the guy in the elevator…” he said, making for the bathroom. “Give me half an hour, and then we’d better get Felix here so I can tell you both what’s been going on.”

  “Alright,” said Ginny. “I’ll lay out some fresh clothes. And, Gabriel?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad that you made it home.”

  * * *

  “Russian wizards?”

  Donovan was sitting in one of the armchairs by the window, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. He was eyeing Gabriel from across the room, with an expression that seemed poised somewhere between the incredulous and the downright weary.

  Beside him, Flora perched quietly on the edge of a chaise longue, taking everything in. She knew, of course, about the events that had taken place back in New York, of Ginny’s possession by Sekhmet and the rise of the Circle of Thoth—but Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure what she’d made of it all. That said, after years of being married to an NYPD cop, she was hardly unaccustomed to living with uncertainty and drama.

  “Really, Felix?” said Gabriel. He was pacing the room in a red si
lk dressing robe, sipping from another glass of brandy. His hair was still mussed and damp. “After everything we’ve seen together, after all that we’ve encountered, you’re going to question this?” He stopped before the window, parting the curtains with the edge of his hand and peering out at the busy street below. Cars and buses streamed by, stirring puddles of rainwater; pedestrians bustled along the pavements; everything seemed normal, sedate, undisturbed—aside, that was, from his raging headache and the fact his left hip hurt every time he moved. Gabriel knew, though, that somewhere out there, amongst the rows of crooked chimneys and cobbled lanes, the parks and pavilions, the men who had attacked him last night were planning their next move. He took another swig of his brandy.

  After taking his bath, he’d returned to the main suite to find the others waiting for him, brimming with questions. Evidently, Ginny had sent for them and provided a brief precis of what he’d already told her. Now she, too, was sitting quietly on the bed, processing the rest of what he’d had to say. He’d given them a blow-by-blow account of everything that had happened since he’d left them in the restaurant the previous evening—the hospital, the fight with the automaton, the ambush and subsequent rush to the safe house. He wondered if Donovan was going to be quite so forthright as Ginny in pledging his assistance to Rutherford; they had, after all, traveled halfway around the world in order to get some respite from the mess that was awaiting them back home.

  “God, no,” said Donovan. “I’ve seen enough in my time to know that if you tell me you were ambushed by light-wielding wizards, I should believe every word of it. I’m just amazed at our capacity to find trouble wherever we go. We’re supposed to be here on vacation.”

  Gabriel laughed. “Believe me, I know. And my aching limbs are telling me exactly the same thing. Look, there’s no need for you to get involved. Enjoy your rest.”

  Donovan leaned forward in his chair, taking his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and sprinkling the ash into the porcelain tray on the coffee table. “You know that’s not going to happen, right?”