The Curious Case Of The Clockwork Menace (5 page)

Garrett didn’t
bother to knock. The man was half-deaf anyway.

The testing
room was fitted out like a shooting gallery. Garrett waved hello as
Fitz saw him.

Fitz pulled
the trigger and the target fluttered as the bullet hit the
outskirts of it. He lowered the pistol and then tugged down the
heavy sound-proofing earmuffs he’d designed. “That’s the type of
pistol used on Hobbs,” Fitz called loudly, handing the pocket
revolver to Garrett. “A Webley Bull Dog with a .442 Webley round.
Gibson dug the round out of his chest an hour ago.”

“
That was quick.”

Fitz shrugged.
“Hardly a challenge, my friend. They’re as common as muck.”

A small,
automated servant drone wheeled closer, hissing out steam. They
were the sort of thing more frequently found in a merchant or
aristocrats home, as a sign of affluence, but Fitz had long ago
rescued this one from a pile of scrap and resurrected it.

Fitz set his
earmuffs down on the tray it held, then handed a pair of bullets to
Garrett. “So, how’s the case going?”

Garrett loaded
the bullets into the pistol and put one dead centre through the
target. The Webley was in wide circulation, especially among the
Royal Irish Constabulary, though better suited to short-range
encounters. Small enough to hide in a coat pocket, which was part
of its allure. “Hobbs died immediately. Whoever did it, walked up
to the counter and shot him over it. From the blood pattern, he
didn’t try to run, so either he wasn’t expecting it or maybe the
killer was a stranger? Someone he thought was a customer?”

Fitz stared at
him, his freckles standing out in stark relief.

It must have
been the mention of ‘blood pattern’. Garrett sighed and put the
pistol down.

“
I’ll try and estimate the distance the perpetrator was at
when the shot was fired,” Fitz said.

“
Thank you.”

A clatter in
the corner announced the arrival of a message in the pneumatic
cylinder system the Guild used. Fitz unfurled the paper, then
passed it to him. “You’re wanted upstairs. Lynch wants a
report.”

That was
unusual. Garrett flicked a glance over it. Brief and to the point,
much like Lynch, the guild master. “He usually doesn’t bother to
get involved in a case this early.”

Unless there
was a reason.

“
So, what do we have?”

Sir Jasper
Lynch, the Master of the Nighthawks, leaned back in his chair and
surveyed the pair of them over the desk. Perry stood at attention
beside Garrett, her hands clasped behind her. A thick wall of
silence hung between them, and as she glanced sideways, she met
Garrett’s glance.

Though they’d
barely spoken on the way home, they’d worked together sufficiently
well. It was only now, with no dead bodies between them, that what
had happened earlier reared its ugly head.

She certainly
had no intentions of replying to that question.

“
A burning curiosity about why this case is such a priority,”
Garrett finally replied.

Lynch pushed a
piece of paper across his desk. “What do you know of Arthur Lennox,
Lord Rommell?”

“
We met him today. He’s a part-owner of the Veil Theatre,”
Garrett replied, “I’m more interested in the theatre employees and
what their relationship with Miss Tate involved, as well as trying
to work out what happened to her.”

“
There’s been no sign of the body yet, sir, or even any
indication whether she’s alive or dead,” Perry added. “We’ve
checked her home and none of her neighbours have seen any sign of
her, though judging from the way she vanished from the theatre, I
certainly don’t expect her to have simply hurried home to fetch
something.”

“
She was taken from the theatre?”

“
So it seems,” Perry replied.

“
You mentioned Rommell?” Garrett prompted.

“
Rommell’s not just a financial backer,” Lynch replied. “It’s
a particular interest of his.”

“
The theatre? Or actresses?” Perry asked. She knew what the
blue bloods of the Echelon were like, only too well.

“
Both.” Lynch snorted, gesturing to the paper.

Garrett picked
it up before she could and scanned it, his eyebrow lifting. He
placed it back on Lynch’s desk instead of giving it to her.

Petty
. Perry’s lips thinned, but she
gave no other outward sign of irritation. Lynch was far too adept
at reading people for that, and he wouldn’t tolerate arguments
between the assigned partners on a case.

“
That’s… a considerable commission,” Garrett said. “If Rommell
put it up himself, as reward for her return, then I’m wondering
what the precise relationship between he and Miss Tate
was.”

So that was
the push for priority on a missing person’s case. Private
commissions were accepted by the Nighthawk Guild, but the rate
structure was often exorbitant. That served to prevent aristocratic
blue bloods from demanding that their missing bracelet be placed
above a murder case - which was entirely likely - but it also meant
that when one of the Echelon did offer a commission, then it had to
be given a certain priority.

“
Do you have any leads at all?” Lynch asked.

“
By all accounts Nelly Tate was well-liked,” Garrett answered.
“We’ve questioned the acting troupe, and nobody seemed to hold any
animosity toward her. For the lead actress, she was rather more
considerate than most, it seems. Miss Radcliffe, her understudy,
said that Nelly had been helping her with her lines, which is
almost unheard of.”

Perry
hesitated and Lynch saw it.

“
Yes?” he turned to her.

Garrett
stiffened at her side.

“
Nothing, sir.”

Lynch looked
between the pair of them. Perry stared at the wall above him, her
face impassive. The seconds tripped by, highlighted by Lynch’s
clock. If he expected either of them to break, then he
underestimated their experience in handling him.

“
Very well.” Lynch’s voice was so smooth it was clear he
didn’t believe her. “If there’s nothing else to add… then you’re
dismissed.”

Perry relaxed
and turned toward the door.

“
Oh, and Perry?”

She
turned.

“
Trust your instincts,” Lynch told her, before giving her a
brisk nod. “Whatever they might be.”

Garrett shot
her a dark look as she escaped through the door.

CHAPTER
FOUR

GARRETT FOUND
HER in the training room; the sound of grunts and striking blows
drawing him down the corridor. They’d parted ways after the
debriefing in Lynch’s office, and Perry had used the distraction of
several Nighthawks to slip away from him.

Perry’s eyes
flickered to his as he entered the room and Byrnes, one of his
fellow Nighthawks, used the distraction to kick her in the chest.
She staggered back, her fists coming up defensively and a scowl
darkening her face.

They’d be at
this until one of them cried uncle, which, knowing the pair of
them, could be hours.

“
Show me what you’ve got, princess,” Byrnes
taunted.

Perry’s eyes
narrowed and she launched into a stinging series of blows that
Byrnes barely deflected. The other man’s eyes were watchful though,
and Garrett could see where Byrnes was goading her into an attack.
She extended her punch a fraction too far and Byrnes was on her,
flipping her over his shoulder and driving her down onto the mat.
He yanked her arm up behind her back and ground the flat of his
palm between her shoulder blades. Perry’s eyes blazed with fury at
herself – and no doubt a little bit of it for him.

“
Can I step in?” Garrett asked.

Byrnes looked
up. They’d never been friends – Byrnes had an edge of coldness that
Garrett didn’t entirely trust, and in return Byrnes saw Garrett’s
unwillingness to hurt a sparring partner as a weakness – but they
often worked together as part of the ranking officers of Lynch’s
Hand.

“
Ready for a rest, Perry?” Byrnes asked, letting her shoulder
out of the lock.

“
I wasn’t referring to her,” Garrett corrected.

Byrnes looked
between them. Perry froze on her hands and knees, then seemed to
gather herself as she stood. “Go on,” she said to Byrnes. “I’ll
claim a rematch later.”

“
Might just stay and watch this one,” Byrnes said, no doubt
picking up on the tension.

“
I’d suggest you don’t.” Garrett stared him down, pushing past
him onto the mats that padded the sparring floor. He stripped off
his coat, flinging it behind him, toward a chair, then started
working on his waistcoat.

That set
curiosity burning in the other man’s eyes, but after another slow
look, he melted away, shutting the door to the training room behind
him.

Garrett locked
it.

When he turned, Perry was still standing in the middle of the
mat, her knees
softened and her feet set
defensively.

“
I told you we needed to discuss what happened
today.”

Perry tipped her chin up. “Is that what this is? A
discussion?”

“
Maybe.” He smiled. It wasn’t nice. “Later.”

Her eyes turned smoky
and dangerous.
“Then get your boots off.”

“
With pleasure.”

The very pleasantness of the conversation belied the fury
surging beneath his skin. It had been bad enough with her
questioning his actions in regards to Miss Radcliffe, but that
moment in Lynch’s study… She’d let Lynch see her doubts and
knowing
the
Nighthawk himself, Lynch wouldn’t let well enough alone until
he knew what the matter was. Lynch had the tenacity of a dog at a
bone once he realized someone was keeping secrets.

Rolling up the
sleeves on his shirt, Garrett discarded his boots and stepped onto
the mat. This… this was exactly what he needed. The hunger of the
craving virus lit through his veins, igniting his anger. It took
quite a lot to push him to this point, but Perry had touched a
nerve. If they wanted to sort this matter out so that they could
work together, then he needed to deal with this now, regardless of
her feelings on the matter. Knowing her as he did, she’d much
prefer to pretend nothing had happened and skulk off to her room to
nurse her grudge.

They touched fists, then separated. Garrett’s knees softened,
his eyes watching her like a hawk. The martial arts that had come
from the Orient were taught to all of the novices, but when they
sparred, all bets were off. It was a combination of pugilism
and bartitsu, plus
wrestling moves. Garrett knew his strengths as well as he
knew hers. Perry would try to keep her distance, whilst lashing in
for devastating blows. She was quick, but she knew enough to keep
out of the circle of his arms, as he was much stronger than
she.

He worked her
lightly at first, dancing forward, then retreating when she went on
the attack. It helped get the blood flowing in his veins and he
knew she was holding back until his muscles had heated.

“
Let’s dance,” Garrett told her, when he felt he was
ready.

He took the
attack directly to her.

If she was
surprised by the onslaught, then she didn’t show it, fighting
grimly to keep him at a distance.

He rarely
pressed her this hard in their sparring sessions, nor any of the
other Nighthawks for that matter. Sometimes these sessions could
get careless, and Garrett had never desired to hurt someone just
for the sake of a match. Perhaps because he’d grown up in the
streets of the East End, near Bethnal Green, where people didn’t
fight for entertainment or to enhance their skill.

There, it had
been man pitted against man, for blood, coin or survival. Garrett
had learned how to fight and to kill at an early age, and he didn’t
see the point of winning a bout here at the Guild. It earned you
nothing, ultimately, though Byrnes and Perry, and some of the
others didn’t see it that way.

Perry’s eyes
narrowed and she danced out of the way as he lunged forward, the
heel of her foot whipping toward his throat. Anger bubbled beneath
the surface, and he met her, blow for blow. Faster. Harder. A
writhing, graceful dance that earned a grunt here and there, and
would leave the pair of them blackened and bruised by morning.

“
This is… ridiculous,” she panted, ducking and
weaving.

“
Really?” he snapped, drawing her into the cage of his arms
and trapping her there in a lock. “Well, I’d have preferred to
simply discuss the matter, but you kept retreating. So, let’s not
talk about it. Let us simply get this out of the way.”

She broke free. “Fine,” she snapped.

“
You said I was unprofessional.” Both of his palms hit her at
the shoulders, staggering her backward. Perry’s face darkened and
she slapped her arms up inside his, slamming a ringing blow to his
right ear.

“
You were,” she snapped. “A pretty blonde caught your eye and
that–” A punch to the face that missed, “–was the end of any
rational discourse.”

“
My interest in Miss Radcliffe is the same as any other
male’s. She’s a beautiful young woman. She’s clever and polite...
Perhaps you should try that last one more often?” He was moving
before he thought, one hand a distracting strike to her face that
missed, whilst he slammed an open-handed blow against her abdomen.
“But that’s all it is.” The movement was so natural he didn’t
realize how hard he’d hit her, until she crumpled over it,
staggering back.