The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(53)

I glared at him, my anxiety hardening into annoyance. ‘Only the whole speech.’ Up at the lectern, Penelope had finished her remarks with a few condescending platitudes. She smiled, waved at no one in particular and left the stage. Click, click, click went her heels as she slipped out of the room. It was all done in dead silence. A few flunkeys followed her out; a door closed. She was gone.

Only now did the assembled agents begin to stir. There was a low indignant muttering, swelling into loud complaint. Then the uproar began.

‘Everyone sounds predictably happy,’ Lockwood said.

‘Yeah, it was much as expected.’ Scowling, I gave a brief summary. ‘She’s turning the screw on us again. She had a nerve bringing up all the dead agents. It’s nothing to do with size of organization, is it? It’s all about the teamwork. Anyway, we’re coming under her thumb, like it or not. Where have you been?’

Lockwood smiled at me like he was coming out of a dream. He didn’t answer. ‘What did the skull say?’

‘Same as before. Yes, she’s Marissa. Outwardly she’s different. But her essential nature is identical to when he spoke to her decades ago. And the odour of the Other Side hangs strongly around her.’

He nodded absently, as if the information didn’t surprise him. He moved back to let a couple of grim-faced Mellingcamp agents past. A wave of guests was making for the doors. A few stayed to mop up the final remnants of food and drink, but most were desperate to be gone. We remained loitering in the shadow of the pillar, where the sightless ghost hovered, staring at us from its pale blue prison. ‘What’s so frustrating,’ Lockwood said, ‘is that the answer to everything is so, so close to us right now.’

‘You’ve seen something?’

‘No. I tried. I didn’t find it.’

‘Then how do you know—?’

He made a gesture of impatience. ‘Oh, because George is right! This is Fittes House! She keeps it all close – that’s how she retains control. She’s not stupid like Steve Rotwell, building weird laboratories in fields, doing crazy experiments where anyone could just break in. This is where the action is. It always has been. George worked here once, and Kipps did for years. They both said there are big areas that remain out of bounds to almost everyone – whole levels in the basements, and Penelope’s apartments up top. You’ve seen the Black Library – that was full of secret stuff too. But it’s the upper floors, where Penelope lives, that I’d like to see. That’s where we’d find out the truth.’ He nodded towards a broad inner door. ‘The lifts are just through there, in the Hall of Fallen Heroes. Five bronze lifts and a single silver one that goes up to her rooms. What I wouldn’t give just to pop up for ten minutes.’ He sighed. ‘But it’s impossible.’

I stared at him. ‘Don’t tell me that’s what you just tried doing …’

‘It seemed the perfect opportunity.’ Lockwood grinned at me. ‘Penelope down here. Everyone busy, all the Fittes crowd gawping at their mistress. I just strolled out. Had to dodge a few people, take a long-winded detour or two. I got to the Hall of Fallen Heroes easily enough. But it was a no-go. There were whopping big guards posted at the lifts. I had to turn round.’

‘Or you’d have gone up in the silver lift?’

‘Of course.’

Anger flared inside me. How far could recklessness stretch before it truly became a death wish? ‘Lockwood,’ I said, ‘you’ve got to be more careful. I can’t believe you would do something like that without me. I’d never dream of doing that on my—’

A jovial cry came from across the room. ‘Lockwood, you old hound! I thought I saw you skulking there.’ Sir Rupert Gale was striding towards us, draining a glass of champagne. ‘You two still hanging around?’ he said. ‘I’d have assumed you couldn’t get out fast enough after enduring Penelope’s little rant.’ He gave me a cheery wink. ‘Were you maybe thinking of scrounging the last few canapés, Miss Carlyle? I could get you both a doggy bag.’

‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘We were on our way out.’

‘Yes, perhaps that would be best. We wouldn’t want you to be swept out with the rubbish. That’s a very big handbag you’re carrying with you, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘We’re off to a couple of cases,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you want to see my papers?’

‘No, no. We’ll take it as read this time.’ Sir Rupert raised his glass to the bloodstained ghost in the pillar, which was inching round to follow us as we walked past towards the door. ‘Looks as if someone likes you, anyway, Miss Carlyle. Isn’t it nice to have a fan?’

‘Didn’t know you could see ghosts so clearly, Sir Rupert,’ Lockwood said. ‘Aren’t you a bit old for that?’

An expression of mild annoyance crossed the man’s face, as of one caught out in some minor indiscretion. ‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘I’m younger than I look. The doors are just through here …’ With ostentatious courtesy he escorted us back across reception to the entrance. Outside, the fragmenting host of agents was milling around. Some took waiting cabs, others dispersed in little groups into the night. ‘Where’s Cubbins?’ Sir Rupert asked suddenly as we started down the steps. ‘Not off being naughty in some library again?’