Shadow Creatures (3 page)

Calum really needed to know about this.

Tara was about to email him when it occurred to her that it would be better to just take a bus across London and pop in to see him. The chances were that he would be in – he rarely left
his apartment. He would have questions that were better answered face to face rather than by a string of emails.

She was about to switch her tablet to
hibernate
when it pinged again, indicating another incoming email. She debated whether to check it now or later, but she was a sucker for instant
gratification.

This wasn’t from one of her search-bots. It appeared to be from a real human being named Tom Karavla. The message read:

Tara’s immediate reaction was that it was a scam of some kind. She’d been expecting Nemor Incorporated to make a move against her, after the way she’d let them
down when they’d wanted her to investigate Calum for them, and this might be it. If so, it was a lot more subtle than their last attempt.

She was about to delete the message when a sudden compulsion grabbed hold of her. She ought to check a little bit further, just in case. She put the name
Tom Karavla
into her search-bots
and let them loose.

Within thirty seconds she had a potted life history of Tom Karavla, plus a series of photographs. He was about her age – apparently – and good-looking in the kind of understated
muscular way that she liked. He was studying politics at the London School of Economics, and lived in east London. He had a wide circle of friends, but according to his social-media profile he was
single. And, yes, he did list one of his interests as
cryptids,
as well as
ice hockey
and
dubstep,
which was a mark against him as far as she was concerned, but one she might
be able to forgive. As far as she could see from just a cursory analysis, he was real. She even had the IP address of his computer, which gave her another idea.

She logged into the
lostworlds.co.uk
website as
administrator
and looked at the log of the times and durations of site accesses, along with the IP addresses of the computers that
had looked at the site. The log showed that Tom Karavla’s IP address had accessed the site forty or fifty times over the past year and a bit. That was well before Nemor Incorporated had
contacted her. It might still be them, of course, being very clever, but she didn’t think so. Why would they try a clumsy approach a few weeks back if they had a more sophisticated surrogate
identity to use? No, the chances were that Tom Karavla was who he said he was.

She ran some quick diagnostics over the website just in case it had been hacked and the logs recently falsified to give the impression that someone with that IP address had been looking at the
site for much longer than they had, but everything seemed intact and secure.

She took a last gulp of her green tea and quickly typed a response:

After sending the email, her finger hovered over the
Power
off
button on the side of the tablet, but she hesitated. If Tom was still online, then he might respond
immediately. Maybe. That would save her sitting on the bus and wondering if he had got back to her or not.

Five seconds later a new email appeared:

Hesitating for a moment, Tara typed a reply:

It wouldn’t hurt to do a little customer relations, she thought; and, besides, he might actually have some information that Calum could use. It was worth a go, anyway.

Before she was tempted to stay and see what he said in response, she turned her tablet off and slipped it into her bag. Time to go.

G
ecko was exercising on the straps that hung from Calum’s ceiling: pulling himself up and down first using one hand and then the other.

‘This isn’t a gymnasium,’ Calum pointed out from where he sat in front of his ten-screen octo-core computer set-up. He was scanning numerous websites in parallel, as well as
watching some live feeds from various webcams that other people – usually researchers or television-programme makers – had set up in various remote parts of the world, powered by solar
panels. It was a long shot, but it was just possible that some previously unknown big cat or deer might wander into shot, and Calum wanted to be there when it happened. ‘I should start
charging you a membership fee.’

‘If you do that I will have to insist on showers and a coffee bar,’ Gecko replied, using his left arm to pull himself up to the ceiling. He could feel the burn in his bicep.

‘You do use my shower.’ Calum’s eyes were still fixed on the screens. ‘And if I don’t make you coffee on a regular basis then you steal cans of cola from the fridge
– don’t think I haven’t seen you.’

‘It is a small recompense for the services I offer.’

‘Which are?’

Gecko thought for a moment as he lowered himself down to the ground again. ‘Conversation, of course, and my activities as bodyguard and thief-deterrent.’

‘Bodyguard?’ Calum glanced over at Gecko. ‘Apart from the time Nemor Incorporated broke in, when you weren’t even here, there haven’t been any attempted burglaries
or attacks.’

‘Which only goes to prove how effective I am,’ Gecko pointed out.

‘I bow to your superior logic.’ Calum swivelled his chair round to face Gecko. ‘Which reminds me – have you seen or heard anything from those Eastern European gangsters
who wanted you to become a thief for them?’

Gecko scowled. ‘Nothing. And that is a worry for me.’

‘Maybe they’ve decided to leave you alone.’

He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. People like them, they get an idea in their heads and they cannot get it out. If they have decided they want me, then they will keep on trying until I say
yes. It is like a matter of honour to them. I am disrespecting them if I say no.’

‘Have you been back to your flat?’

‘No.’ Gecko shrugged. ‘Well, only quickly, to get fresh clothes, and I have been very careful to check the flat out from a distance before I go in. I have been staying with
friends.’

Calum turned back to the screens. ‘You could stay here,’ he said casually ‘I have spare bedrooms.’ He glanced up to the skylight. ‘And you already have a
key.’

Gecko felt a sudden wave of gratitude wash over him. ‘Would I have to pay rent as well as a membership fee?’ he asked.

‘Not for as long as your presence here discourages burglars and muggers.’ Gecko could see Calum smiling slightly. ‘It’s like having a guard dog.’

‘One who drinks coffee and cola,’ Gecko suggested.

‘Have you thought about going to the police?’

‘What would I tell them? I cannot identify the two men who were in my flat, and I would have to admit that the reason they want me is because I already take part in an activity that is
barely legal in the first place.’

‘Actively
il
legal, as I think I said the first time I met you,’ Calum said. ‘Free-running might be fun, but it does involve trespass. But, yes, I take your point. The
police wouldn’t be interested. Not unless they could get you working as an informant and actively encourage you to join up with a gang so you could be their mole on the inside.’

Gecko shivered. ‘The only thing worse than working for a gang like that would be working for a gang like that
and
the Metropolitan Police.’

‘The pay might be OK,’ Calum pointed out, ‘but the pension is lousy.’

‘In the unlikely event that I live long enough to collect a pension.’

Before Calum could respond, the doorbell rang. Calum pressed a key on his keyboard, and one of his ten screens shifted to a view from the camera outside his apartment door. Professor Gillian
Livingstone and her daughter, Natalie, were standing outside. The professor had a large box with her.

Calum quickly ran a hand through his hair and pressed another key. The security lock on the door clicked to the open position.

‘Come in!’ he yelled.

Gecko noticed that rather than stay in his seat he levered himself upright and held on to one of the ceiling straps with his right hand, making it look as if he was just casually standing
there.

‘Calum!’ Professor Livingstone exclaimed as she entered the large loft apartment and strode across the floorboards. She was a petite, athletic, blonde American who was old enough to
be Gecko’s mother but didn’t look nearly that old. She obviously kept herself in good condition with exercise, vitamins and probably, Gecko thought, some strange and secret research
programmes at one or another of the various laboratories worldwide that she either funded or consulted with. She gave Calum a hug and he responded, one-armed. ‘You’re looking well. How
are you feeling?’

‘Fine, as usual,’ he said. He glanced past her. ‘Hi, Natalie.’

Gillian’s daughter entered the room, lugging the large box behind her. It was strapped up with plastic tape and it was on a kind of trolley that Natalie was pulling with some effort.

‘Hi, Calum,’ she said, and then glanced at Gecko. ‘Hi, Gecko.’

‘Hello, Eduardo,’ Gillian Livingstone said, looking over at him. Apart from Gecko’s mother, Gillian Livingstone was the only person who used his real name.

‘Professor Livingstone,’ Gecko said, nodding. He glanced between the two women. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?’

‘I’ll have a latte, please,’ Gillian Livingstone said. ‘Semi-skimmed milk if you have it.’

‘Grapefruit juice?’ Natalie asked, shrugging.

‘Coming right up.’

As Gecko headed for the kitchen area, he heard Calum say, ‘I got your message about coming across to England, but you didn’t say why.’

‘Do I need a reason to see my favourite ward?’

‘Usually, yes,’ Calum replied. ‘What’s happened? Has Aunt Merrily asked you to check on me? If she did, then it’s a long way for you to come, just for that. All she
has to do is send a car for me and I’ll pop across to see her in Richmond. She knows that.’

‘Merrily hasn’t been in touch, Calum,’ Professor Livingstone reassured him. ‘I had to be in London anyway, to sign some official documents, and I thought I’d take
the opportunity to catch up. And, besides, there’s something I want to show you. Something that came out of a research laboratory I’m associated with.’

‘What about you?’ Calum asked Natalie. ‘Aren’t you still in school, or something?’

‘Aren’t you?’ Natalie countered.

‘Special exemption because of the car accident,’ he said. ‘I’m home-schooled.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Natalie countered. ‘Where’s your tutor, then?’

‘Actually,’ her mother admitted with a tinge of embarrassment in her voice, ‘that’s me. I had to promise the authorities that I would supervise Calum’s
education.’

‘And do you?’

‘Better than I supervise yours, apparently,’ Gillian Livingstone said with an edge to her voice. ‘I send Calum a list of topics to research every term, and he sends me back
proof that he’s researched them. Usually within a week.’

‘It’s a chore,’ Calum said, ‘but I have to put in the time. I want my allowance to continue.’ When Gecko came back into the main area of the apartment with a tray
of drinks, he saw his friend was smiling as he asked, ‘So what’s your story, Natalie?’

‘She was asked to leave her college,’ Gillian said darkly. ‘I wouldn’t say it was under a cloud, but there were definitely adverse weather warnings.’

‘What did you do?’ Gecko asked, handing Natalie her glass of grapefruit juice.

‘I bought a dog,’ Natalie said, taking the drink.

‘What is the problem with that?’

‘It’s a boarding school.’

He nodded. ‘Ah. I see. No, actually, I don’t.’

‘Apparently they don’t allow dogs in lessons. I
told
them it was only a chihuahua, and I could carry it around in my handbag all day without anyone noticing, but apparently
handbags aren’t allowed in lessons either.’ She shrugged. ‘They’ve got rules for everything. Who knew?’

‘I blame your father,’ Gillian interrupted. ‘He should have been looking after you.’

‘Someone should,’ Natalie muttered. ‘At least, that’s what the principal said.’

Gecko glanced at the box on the trolley behind Natalie. It was, now he came to look at it, more of a crate than a box. It was heavy-duty plastic with snap-locks holding the two sides together.
There was a sticker on the side with a company logo, but Gecko couldn’t see what it was.