Stiletto (46 page)

“Yes,” she said finally. “But it’s political. National security is at stake.”

“Good God. What do you want us to do?”

“Nothing, for the moment,” said Thomas. “You know the press, especially here. If word gets out about a death, let alone a murder, let alone a
political
murder at Royal Ascot, then we’ll have no chance of tracking this down discreetly.”

“Quite,” said the major.

“Keep your men on the door, and don’t let anyone in unless I authorize it. I have to go consult with my superiors. Call me if there are any further developments.” He nodded, and she led her little entourage away to the escalators before pulling out her mobile and dialing her office. “Ingrid, it’s me. The incident at the races is one of ours. Can you please call Chev Whibley, Lady Farrier, and Sir Henry and ask them to meet me at the pink bench on the Royal Enclosure lawn as soon as possible.” She was silent as they made their way through the crowd and out onto the lawn by the racetrack. Many benches were dotted about, but only one of them was pink.

“Why’s it pink?” asked Alessio.

“Hmm? Oh, some boy once proposed to some girl on one of the benches,” said the Rook. “Now they always have a pink bench to commemorate it. They move it around the lawn.” At the moment, the pink bench was occupied by a plump older couple, the man looking like John Bull and the woman looking like Mrs. Sprat. There was no room for anyone else to sit there, and they did not seem to be in any hurry to move, so the Rook’s party hung around, awkwardly making nonsupernatural-murder-related small talk, until the others appeared.

Sir Henry arrived first with Ernst and Marcel in tow. They had been chatting in the marquee belonging to White’s, of which Sir Henry was a member. Lady Farrier materialized shortly after, and then Chevalier Whibley, a gentleman in his fifties with a florid face and a hearty voice. Odette did not know much about him beyond the fact that he spent a great deal of time overseas and had the ability to make wood as hard as titanium. Myfanwy led them away from the plump couple on the bench to a patch of the lawn where no one was standing too close. She hurriedly explained the situation.

“Incredible,” marveled Marcel once she was done. “What are the odds of something like this happening here?”

“Around three hundred thousand people come to Royal Ascot over the five days,” said Lady Farrier. “That’s a lot of people.”

“And the Checquy are just keeping these situations quiet all the time?”

“Frankly, unless this had been done on live television, I can’t imagine a more difficult situation to keep quiet,” said the Rook. “There are hundreds of people wandering around, all of them with phones, all of them keen to share any unusual developments with the world.”

“Thank you very much, social media,” Chevalier Whibley remarked bitterly.

“And regular media,” added the Rook. “If anything odd shows up, like a helicopter with troops, or even a police car with flashing lights, there will be a lot of questions.”

“This is another one of those damn murders you’re supposed to be stopping, then?” asked Sir Henry.

“Well, given the circumstances, Sir Henry, the odds of it being a copycat crime are extremely small.”

“So, what’s the situation?” asked Whibley. “Do we evacuate the racecourse?”

“Evacuate seventy thousand–odd people? It would be the biggest story in the world,” said Lady Farrier, shuddering. “And what excuse could we possibly give, beyond terr —”

“Don’t say it!” exclaimed Rook Thomas and Chevalier Whibley in unison. The Lady shut her mouth and rolled her eyes.

“I’d prefer not to call off Ladies’ Day at Royal Ascot unless absolutely necessary,” Farrier said finally. “The repercussions would be horrendous.”

“If it’s necessary to evacuate, we can come up with some excuse,” said Rook Thomas. “But I don’t know that it
is
necessary. In all the previous occurrences, there has been one eruption of crystals, and then nothing else.”

“You think our murderer just killed this man and then went back to drinking G and Ts and betting on the horses?” asked Sir Henry.

“Either that or he’s left.”

“So what shall we do?” asked Chev Whibley. “Just wait until the end of the day and then bring in the investigation team to examine the corpse?”

“That’s certainly an option,” said Thomas. “But it occurs to me that if the murderer is still here, then this is our best opportunity to catch him.” Odette could see that the idea took them aback. These were the mandarins of the Checquy — they were not accustomed to getting their hands dirty. Ernst, by contrast, was nodding approvingly.

“Very wise. One must pursue the quarry while the spoor is fresh,” said the graaf.

“Well... quite,” said Whibley. “But if we do track down the murderer, isn’t there a danger that he might lash out, either at us or the public?”

“That’s what we’re here to prevent,” said Thomas flatly. “But even if we just identify him, we can follow him and snatch him up later.”

“And what about the Royal Family?” asked Sir Henry. As one, they all looked up to the royal box.

“We can’t evacuate them,” said Lady Farrier firmly. “It would raise all sorts of questions and eyebrows. And besides, one of the princes has a horse running today for the Gold Cup.”

“Don’t they have military protection and bodyguards?” asked Odette timidly. As if on cue, all the Checquy Court members pursed their lips.

“Standard troops don’t have any training in fighting the supernatural,” said Lady Farrier dismissively. It was clear that she thought non-Checquy security forces would be instantly shredded by any five-year-old with a heightened sense of hearing or a set of prehensile eyelashes.

“One of us will have to secure the royal box, then,” said Whibley. “I suppose it should be either Rook Thomas or Sir Henry. They have the most combat-ready abilities.”

“I have some daggers sheathed in my torso if you need weapons,” offered Ernst.

“Actually, Pawn Mondegreen is there,” said Rook Thomas. “She’s a lady-in-waiting.”

“
Lady
Pawn Mondegreen,” corrected Lady Farrier. “I’ll go up and alert her immediately.” She walked away briskly with the confidence of a woman who knew she would automatically be admitted to the presence of the Royal Family.

“I’m not familiar with Pawn Mondegreen,” said Whibley. “Will she be able to offer adequate protection?”

“With a wave of her hand, she can cause people’s bones to dissolve instantly,” said Rook Thomas.

“Well, that would probably do it,” said Whibley.

“What other presence does the Checquy have here?” asked Sir Henry.

“Aside from us and Pawn Mondegreen?” asked Rook Thomas. “None that I know of. Unless some Pawns happen to have taken the day off to go to the races. I’ll have the Rookery text every member of the Checquy to see who’s here, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

“If it’s unsafe, perhaps it would be best if we got the members of the Broederschap delegation out of here,” said Chevalier Whibley.

“Not at all!” exclaimed Ernst. “We stand beside you as comrades. Your mission is our mission.”

“What about the young man?” asked the Chev, nodding at Alessio.

“
All
the Broederschap stands ready to do service,” said Ernst, and he laid his hand on Alessio’s shoulder. Alessio looked a trifle startled at this volunteering of his help, but he nodded weakly. “We will bend all our strength to help you track down and kill this person,” Ernst declared. Everyone cringed at this heartfelt but unpalatable sentiment and looked around to make sure no race-goer had heard.

“That’s very kind of you, Ernst,” said Rook Thomas finally, “but we generally try not to kill people unless we absolutely have to. At which point, we kill them absolutely. Our first priority right now is identifying this murderer.”

“What are our leads?” asked Sir Henry.

“Damn few,” said the Rook. “There doesn’t appear to be much of a pattern, except that all the previous murders took place in London or Northamptonshire.”

“Security should have lists of everyone who has entered the enclosure,” said Chev Whibley. “I’ll see about obtaining them and transmitting them to the Rookery. Perhaps they can do an analysis and identify any correlations, such as a home or business address in Northamptonshire.”

The Rook explained to him how to reach Major Llewelyn, and Chevalier Whibley hurried off toward the grandstand. Ernst looked over at Odette thoughtfully. “I have an idea that may be of help. Odette, was there any trackable scent in the toilet?”

“Not really,” said Odette. “The crystals didn’t smell of anything in particular, so there was just feces and the faintest smell of blood.”

“You can smell blood?” asked Thomas. “Interesting. Do all of you have super-smell?”

“It’s not super-smell,” said Marcel. “It’s a heightened olfactory capacity keyed to specific biological compounds.”

“Right,” said the Rook. “Super-smell.”

“It’s not super,” insisted Marcel. “It’s equivalent to the best sense of smell possessed by a normal human being, but only for certain substances that we encounter in our work. It helps to diagnose some conditions.”

“But there was no trail?” said the Rook. Odette shook her head.

“Perhaps one could pick up the smell of blood if the person walked by,” mused Ernst.

“It depends,” said Marcel dubiously. “But I suppose it is possible.”

“My thought is this,” said Ernst. “Marcel, Odette, and I stand at three of the Royal Enclosure exits, and we keep a nose out for anyone smelling of blood.”

We’re going to be sniffing every race-goer?
thought Odette.

“It’s ridiculous, but we’re in a ridiculous situation,” said the Rook. “And it might at least give us a chance. Also, I’d like Pawn Clements to go back to the murder scene and read its history. If she can get a look at the murderer, it could be our biggest break.”

“And how long will that take?” asked Sir Henry. Clements straightened slightly under his gaze.

“It depends, sir,” said the Pawn cautiously. “We don’t know how much time elapsed before the body was found. But not too long, I should think.”

“I’ll go with her,” said Rook Thomas. “Sir Henry, I think you ought to accompany Miss Leliefeld. She has only minimal weaponry, and if the murderer detects any of you at the exits, he might decide to attack.” Clements opened her mouth and then shut it again. Apparently, if she couldn’t act as bodyguard, then a man who had once sunk a Russian submarine to the depths of the abyssal plain whilst sitting inside it drinking schnapps was an acceptable substitute.

“From what I know of you gentlemen,” said the Rook drily to Marcel and Ernst, “I expect you can handle yourselves.”

“That sounds like a decent plan, Myfanwy,” said Sir Henry. He put out his hand, and, looking startled, the Rook shook it. “You and Pawn Clements go on. We shall work out which exits we will cover.”

*

Myfanwy watched Clements go into the handicapped bathroom and shut the door behind her. The guards outside were under the impression that the Pawn would be engaged in some sort of forensic work, which, technically, she was. Myfanwy sat herself down in a nearby chair, and her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Rook Thomas, this is Pawn Ball at the Rookery watch office.”

“What’s the status?” asked Myfanwy.

“We sent out the text messages to all members of the Checquy. The nearest office is in Reading, and, given the traffic, that’s over an hour away, if we use cars without lights and sirens.” Myfanwy sighed. “Now, there
is
a party of three Checquy employees at Ascot today. They are attending in the public areas of the racecourse, but...” He trailed off uncomfortably.

“What?”

“Well, it’s their day off, and they’re at the races,” said Pawn Ball. “They’re somewhat intoxicated.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Myfanwy. “How intoxicated are we talking about?”

“Intoxicated enough that they wouldn’t legally be able to drive. And one of them was giggling when I spoke to him over the phone.”

“Great.”

“Plus they e-mailed me photos of what they’re wearing, and none of them would pass the dress code for the Royal Enclosure. They couldn’t even pass as security guards or waitstaff, especially the ladies.”

“All right, well, I suppose we’ll hold them in reserve. None of them have any abilities that might help us identify a murderer, do they?”

“I’m afraid not. Two of them are Pawns. One has fireproof skin and the other has the ability to disrupt the part of the human brain that deals with language comprehension.”

“No, I suppose that wouldn’t be of much use. Look, dispatch the team from Reading. We’ll need forensic investigators and a combat team, just in case.”

“Understood.” And he rang off. Myfanwy sat back in her chair and brooded. She had an idea but was not certain how practicable it was. Earlier, while moving through the crowds, she’d brushed against a person who’d grated on her supernatural ability. Normally, she kept her additional senses firmly closed down to avoid getting distracted by the minutiae of other people’s nervous systems. But this person’s presence had flickered in the corner of her mind’s eye like a cigarette lighter.

At the time, she’d dismissed it. Because of her amnesia, she didn’t have nearly the level of understanding of her abilities that the old Myfanwy had possessed. Her previous self had undergone years of training and experimentation with her powers and could do things that were completely beyond the new Myfanwy. For all she knew, that brief flash might have meant that someone was having a stroke, or a seizure, or just an involuntary shudder. She’d dismissed it. But now she wondered if she’d come in contact with the murderer. It was an unpleasant thought, but it opened up a very interesting possibility.

Myfanwy had several secrets in addition to that of working for a covert supernatural government organization. The main secret, of course, was the amnesia. Only a few people were aware that her memories had been stolen from her and that she was masquerading as herself. With the loss of her memories, however, had come a startling development. For all the expertise her old self had possessed, she had always needed to establish physical contact to use her powers. The current Myfanwy could use them at a distance, extending them from her mind out to anyone within a radius of about twenty meters. She looked across at the security guards and knew that, with a thought, she could bring them both to their knees. By shifting the focus of her perceptions, she could view the electricity in their brains, the signals in their spines and muscles, the chemistry in their guts.