The Unknown Spy (19 page)

“What are you doing?” he cried.

“We’ll slit his throat and leave him in the snow,” she said matter-of-factly. “They won’t find him until we’re gone.”

“You can’t!” Danny said. “He hasn’t done anything to us.”

“Course he has,” Lily said. “He could ruin everything.”

“Wait,” Danny said, rummaging in the cases behind them. He brought out a dusty bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed the top and splashed whiskey over the man’s clothes, then poured the rest into a drain.

“There, they’ll think he was drunk and fell,” Danny declared.

“Not bad,” Lily said, “but my way was permanent.”

How could she be so quick to kill a man just like that? Danny wondered.

“Look!” Lily pointed. The first light of dawn was showing in the window above their heads.

“We’d better get back to bed,” she said. She led Danny up a winding stone staircase that opened onto the bedroom corridor. She kissed him gently on the cheek.

“I’ve dreamed of having a family all of my life,” she
said. “But we mustn’t let anyone know.” She pointed out a window to a tall tower with a shining silver roof.

“I’ll meet you there tomorrow. We’ll be able to talk more then.”

One more kiss and she was gone. Danny quietly opened the door to his room. Dixie lay in bed, breathing softly. He threw off his clothes, put on the gold pajamas and got into the other bed. A sister! He could still feel the dry touch of her lips on his cheek, and a warmth he had never felt before flooded his heart. At the same time he remembered how she had pulled back the servant’s head to expose his throat. That gave him a certain warm feeling as well—warm like spilled blood. His other self stirred, and he knew that this was the side of Lily that Danny the Spy liked.

Could he trust her? Was she really his sister? Every fiber of his being wanted to believe her.

He decided to say nothing to Dixie. He told himself it was to protect her, but part of him thrilled at the deception.

THE UNEXPECTED

L
es and Toxique had gone back to Vandra’s bedside after class, and the three friends spent the evening trying to figure out who the killer of the Unknown Spy’s wife might be, until Blackpitt cut into their thoughts.

“Cadets Knutt and Toxique, you are forty-five minutes late for bedtime. Tell Master Brunholm that you have incurred a Third Regulation offense! Now go to bed!”

Les and Toxique looked at each other. Les had a few choice words that he wanted to apply to Blackpitt, but Blackpitt seemed to hear everything. A Third Regulation offense was harsh for being late for bed, and if Blackpitt was in a bad mood, he could easily up the punishment.

“Come on, Toxique,” Les said. “Vandra’s almost asleep anyway.”

The two boys made their way out of the apothecary, under the skeleton of the Messenger and through the silent college.

“Blackpitt,” Les said. “Blackpitt, wake up!” There was no reply.

“What are you doing?” Toxique demanded.

“Trying to see if Blackpitt is awake,” Les whispered.

“Why?”

“Well, the only person this mystery assassin has managed to actually bump off is the wife of the Unknown Spy. We should have a look at his room while he’s safely under lock and key.”

Toxique moaned. “Blood and murder. We’re in enough trouble already,” he said.

“Then a little more won’t hurt,” Les said firmly.

“McGuinness will already have searched it,” Toxique said.

“Stow it, Toxique,” Les said. “Come on!”

There was no sign of Valant in the entrance hall. They crept down the corridor toward the Unknown Spy’s room. But they were to be disappointed. The door was locked, and nothing Les could do with his lockpicks could open it.

“We’d better get to bed,” Toxique said, looking relieved.

“Not yet,” Les said. “Hear that?” The faint sound of music reached their ears from the ballroom. Les slipped down the corridor, Toxique following reluctantly. They peered through the crack between the ballroom doors.
Les stifled an exclamation of surprise. Besides the Messengers, who were fond of dancing, all the staff were there: Exshaw, Valant, Brunholm, Duddy, Spitfire … all of them. McGuinness stood on the stage with a saxophone in his hand. His wife stood beside him with a double bass. And at the back of the stage, looking every inch a cool jazzman in a black polo, Devoy sat at a drum kit. As Les and Toxique watched, McGuinness counted into a dance number, and Duddy and Brunholm took to the floor.

“If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes …,” Les muttered.

“McGuinness isn’t bad on that thing,” Toxique said, “and Devoy’s technique is impeccable.”

“Didn’t know you liked jazz,” Les said.

“It’s good for calming yourself after a … you know, a killing. All the Toxiques are well known in the great jazz clubs.”

“Well, it gives us the perfect chance,” Les said.

“To do what?”

“To go to the teachers’ quarters and have a chat with the Unknown Spy.”

For the second time that night, Toxique groaned.

F
ifteen minutes later Les and Toxique found themselves on the masters’ corridor, Les looking out for new traps set since the attack on Brunholm. Brunholm had added security outside his room, none of it very subtle. There was the tried-and-tested piano wire stretched at neck height,
and an enormous bear trap. There were classic tricks such as the hair wetted and placed between door and frame so that it would fall off if someone entered. Brunholm had also covered the door in notices: K
EEP
O
UT!
B
EWARE
O
F
T
HE
D
OG!
and W
ARNING:
A
RMED
R
ESPONSE!

“Fat lot of good that’ll do,” Les whispered. “Any tricky stuff? What does your gift tell you?”

“Nothing,” Toxique said, “but it doesn’t always work, you know. A lot of the time I can’t foretell stuff.”

“We’ll press on,” Les said. “I think we’re safe enough.”

The barred window of the little cell in Devoy’s study was dark. Les peered in. As he did so, the dim light in the room picked out the Unknown Spy’s pale face, his eyes fixed on Les. As the face got closer, Les knew that the man must be walking toward him, but he had the impression of a haunted face floating through the air. The face came to a halt at the bars.

“Who are you?” the Unknown Spy asked.

“My name is Les Knutt,” Les said, “and this is Toxique. We’re trying to find out what … what happened to your wife.” The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Er, condolences on your loss,” Les said hastily, wondering if he had been too blunt.

“I didn’t kill you, then?” the Unknown Spy asked.

“No,” Toxique said, “it was a pillow you shot.”

“A pillow. Can’t believe I fell for that old one,” he said. “Do bear in mind I haven’t finished with you yet, won’t you?” Something about the mild way he said this chilled Les even more than bloodthirsty threats would have.

“Wait a minute!” Les said. “I had nothing to do with—”

Toxique had pushed in front of him. “If Les Knutt killed your wife,” he said, “then why? There had to be a reason. Can you think of anything?”

The Unknown Spy stared at them, or rather through them, searching his ruined memory.

“Is there anything that she knew that no one else knew?” Toxique said. “Or something she was an expert at?”

“She was awfully smart, you know,” the Unknown Spy said brightly. “She invented lots of spying techniques. She had started to remember things too. She was writing them down.”

“Could that be what the attacker was looking for?” Toxique asked.

“Possibly. What was her finest technique?” Les asked.

“There was one …,” the Unknown Spy said. “It was named after her, but I can’t remember her name.” A single tear trickled down his cheek.

“What was it called?” Toxique urged softly. “Tell me what it was called.”

“What was it again? Oh yes, the Sibling Strategy.” The two boys looked at each other in confusion. “It was called that at the start, before her name was put on it.”

“What was it?” Toxique asked eagerly. “What did it do?”

“I don’t know,” the Unknown Spy said mournfully. “I can’t remember.”

T
he next day Vandra was well enough to leave the infirmary. Les and Toxique told her what the Unknown Spy had said about his wife.

“Doesn’t really get us any further,” Toxique said gloomily.

“I have an idea,” Vandra said. “Why don’t we tell McGuinness?” The other two looked at her. “It’s not like telling Brunholm,” she said. “McGuinness is pretty straight. It might mean something to him. It can’t hurt, anyway.”

“We should be in class,” Toxique said.

“You can say you were helping me back to the Roosts. I can barely climb up there on my own anyhow.”

It was true. The powerful poison had not yet worked its way entirely out of Vandra’s system. She was finding it hard to walk in a straight line, and one of the friends kept intervening to prevent her from veering into the shrubbery. But they never had a chance to use their excuse. As they passed under one of the decorative arches in the gardens, a speaker coughed to life.

“Out on your rounds again, Knutt and Toxique?” Blackpitt said coldly. “A Fourth Regulation offense this time, I think.”

“He used to always give you a chance to make an excuse,” Les said despairingly.

* * *

T
hey found McGuinness at the parade ground. The tunnel in the middle of the grounds that had been opened by the Cherbs the previous year when they tried to invade Wilsons was still full of water. Water plants had started to spring up around the edges, and it made a pleasant pond. The detective was sitting on a dusty bench, seemingly dozing in the sun, but when Les, Toxique and Vandra approached him he opened one eye.

“Next time you come to Monday-night jazz club, Knutt and Toxique, I’ll expect you to dance or sing, not lurk outside the door.”

“How did he see us?” Les whispered furiously.

Toxique looked taken aback. “Slaughter and guts, he must be able to see through walls.”

McGuinness opened the other eye.

“This looks very much like a delegation,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

The cadets plunged into the story of the visit to the Unknown Spy and the Sibling Strategy. McGuinness’s eyes gleamed under his hat.

“Well done, Toxique,” he said. “You’ve gotten more out of him in five minutes than I’ve managed to get in many weary hours. I’ll have to look into this Sibling Strategy.”

A faint flush spread over Toxique’s waxen features. On anyone else it would have been a blush of pleasure.

“I’m not sure where the information gets us at the moment,” McGuinness went on. “However, the art of
investigation is the art of making links, of joining one piece of information to the next.”

“But we haven’t got any other pieces,” Les said.

“There’s always something,” McGuinness said, “even if you don’t know you have it yet. Just look and listen.”

“But what do we look or listen for?” Vandra said.

“I can’t tell you that since I haven’t found it yet myself,” McGuinness said, “but I’ll tell you one of my rules: always watch for anything different, for unexplained change, something familiar that doesn’t seem quite right all of a sudden. Now, it’s time you were resting, Vandra, and time you two were back in class.”

McGuinness closed his eyes again and tipped his hat forward so that they could no longer see his face. The three friends looked at each other and started to make their way back to the main building.

“It’s hard to notice what’s different about this place when things are odd most of the time anyway,” Vandra said.

“I know,” Les said gloomily. Just as they passed back under the garden archway, Blackpitt’s speaker burst into life.

“Make that a Fifth Regulation offense, Knutt and Toxique.” There was a note of malicious delight in his voice. Les rolled his eyes to heaven.

“As if things aren’t bad enough,” he said, then brightened. “Maybe the assassin will bump us off. That way we won’t have to take a Fifth Regulation punishment.”

“Don’t be daft, Les,” Vandra said. “Don’t joke about things like that. What’s wrong with you?”

“McGuinness told us to look out for something different, didn’t he—something familiar that has changed? Well, something familiar
has
changed, and McGuinness was right—it’s been staring us in the face all the time!”

THE RING OF FIVE ROOM