The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(70)

Lockwood shut the door behind her. ‘Sorry, Flo. It’s a deadly mantrap. I should have told you.’

Flo reached under her hat and scratched at her scalp. ‘Good thinking, and it seems like you might be needing a few more of them and all.’ She broke off and regarded us levelly.

‘Why?’ Holly said. ‘What have you heard?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know as I should say, seeing as how it’ll give you all the willies. And it ain’t confirmed, neither. Just a bit o’ hearsay what’s washed along the Thames and been gathered in her sack by old Flo. But the word is …’ She glanced over her shoulder, made a lucky sign and lowered her voice. ‘Word is that Sir Rupert Gale’s been in deep discussions with Julius Winkman, and your names have been mentioned.’

So much had been happening these past few days that I had completely forgotten about the black marketeer and his recent release from prison. It took me a moment to understand the implications.

Lockwood was way ahead of me. ‘Ah, that’s it, is it?’ he breathed. ‘Of course … They’re old acquaintances. Gale used to buy black-market Sources from the Winkmans. Sorry, Flo – I interrupted. Do go on.’

While he was speaking, Flo had helped herself to Lockwood’s mug of tea. ‘Yeah, Julius Winkman,’ she said. ‘Since his release he’s been lying low. There’s been word sent out that he don’t want to see no relics or stolen goods or any of that stuff, though. Course,’ Flo went on, rolling her eyes, ‘that don’t mean nothing, as it’s his missus, Adelaide, and that young smear of cow-cake, Leopold, who take possession of all the hush-hush items these days. So officially old Winkman is all above-board now. But they say that Gale went to see him, and since then Julius has been out recruiting some of his old associates – fellows who ain’t so particular about the kind of work they do. Head-crackers, bone-breakers, knifemen and garroteurs – that sort of tidy gentleman. Rounding them up, routing them out of the inns and wharfside stews, getting them tooled and ready for a dicey and unspecified job.’ Her blue eyes gazed at us from the shadows of her hat. ‘Unspecified … but concerning you.’

‘That’s why they’ve taken so long to get going,’ Lockwood said. ‘Fittes and Gale are getting the Winkman family to sort us out. Marissa keeps her hands clean and shuts us up, while Julius gets the revenge he’s been after ever since we got him arrested after Kensal Green that time. Hey presto, everyone’s happy.’

‘Except us,’ Holly said. ‘We’ll be dead.’

No one had much to say to that. ‘Maybe it’s better this way,’ I said at last. ‘Maybe it’s better that it’s not going to be other agents coming after us. They won’t be trained like us, will they? They won’t have swords.’

‘No,’ Kipps said, ‘just guns and knives. Hooray.’

‘We’re going to be trapped in here,’ Holly whispered. ‘What if our barricades don’t work? What if they get in? There’ll be nowhere to run.’

We gazed at one another. My hands felt cold; a worm of dread coiled tightly in my stomach. By the looks of it Quill and Holly were experiencing much the same thing. Not Lockwood, though. His eyes glittered; a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. On seeing that smile, the worm in my stomach coiled a whole lot tighter.

‘Maybe there is somewhere we might go,’ Lockwood said. ‘Somewhere Winkman’s men would never follow.’ His smile broadened. He gave a little laugh. ‘You’re going to think I’m mad.’

We waited. ‘Anything would be better than getting chopped into pieces by a group of smelly relic-men,’ Kipps said. ‘No offence intended there, Flo – you’re a girl. Come on, Lockwood – what’s the plan?’

Even then, he was slow to answer. He was weighing his thoughts, judging how best to present them to us. Finally he said, ‘I was just thinking that we could use Jessica’s room.’

Everyone looked at him blankly. ‘What, lock ourselves in there, you mean?’ I said. ‘I suppose the door is strengthened with iron because of the death-glow, and we’ve got a heck of a lot of psychic objects up there that we could—Oh.’ My brain made the required leap, and my mouth fell open. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting— No. No way.’

‘We’ve got the objects,’ Lockwood said. ‘We’ve got the chains. We’ve got the spirit-capes.’ He turned his beaming smile on Holly and Kipps. The truth had just dawned on them; they too suddenly understood what he was saying. ‘We can make ourselves an emergency exit,’ he went on. ‘If all else fails, we can escape. Of course we can. Why not? We’ve got all the materials we need to create a gate to the Other Side.’

Utter silence greeted the statement. Even Flo seemed speechless. We stood there, staring at him in our little kitchen in Portland Row.

‘Is this a private wake, or can anyone join in?’

The voice came from the hallway door. Everyone turned: there stood George. He was in his pyjamas, and very grey about the face – grey, at least, where the purple bruises weren’t blossoming. The bandage on his head had come away, and you could see where the hair was still matted with congealed blood. His sleeves were too short, and there were bruises on his arms. He stood awkwardly, limbs shaking, clasping the door frame for support. But he was standing for the first time in days.