Tales from the Triverse

The creature: part 8

Late shift
On duty: All officers

London.
1973. February.

Everybody was in, the SDC offices busier than they'd been in years. DCS Walpole was stalking up and down the room, asking questions of everyone. DCI Miller was on the phone to the press, trying to give the impression that they knew what to do. All three DIs were in: Ford, Morgan and Bakker. Lola had barely met half of them, let alone seen them in the same place together. The three detective partnerships were all present, pulled in regardless of which shift they were supposed to be running: her and Clarke, Chakraborty and Kaminski, Holland and Hobb. Holland still looked like he'd stumbled in from the pub and was holding a cup of coffee as if it were a vital medical accessory. Robin was talking into three telephones at the same time, while DS Collins and DS Shaw were at their desks talking into their own handsets.

"You each need a drop of this on your tongue," Erik said, passing bottles around. "Won't stop you having a leg bitten off, but it'll turn a scratch into just a scratch."

Ellenbrin was sat in a chair opposite the curator, Moira, from the museum. She'd escaped the creature after it had opted to leave the vaults and find richer pickings in the galleries. They were deep in conversation. Lola felt a small swell of pride when she thought back to diving to Ellenbrin's rescue, knocking her out of the way of the charging kengto. They'd exchanged glances and Ellenbrin had nodded thanks, but they'd not spoken since.

Halbad and Seline were tending to Ngarkh, who was sat on the floor in the corner of the office, a wet flannel pressed to their head.

"OK, listen up, everyone," said DCS Walpole, his voice immediately cutting through the chatter of the busy room. "The creature, this 'kengto', is being tracked by police units and king's guard. The city is in lockdown, effective thirty minutes ago. Public transport is halted, including the tube. Last thing we want is an encounter down there. Last report had it heading along the river, in the direction of Westminster. If it keeps going the way it'll hit parliament; if it veers off it'll be right on top of the portal station - either way it's not good."

"What's the plan, guv?" asked Holland.

"We're the elite squad, ladies and gentlemen," Walpole said, "not least thanks to our friends from Palinor, without whom the situation at the museum would no doubt have been far worse. All of us in the SDC and the officers joining us today: our job is to get the Six Blades close enough for them to end this."

Kaminski raised a hand. "I hear this thing can fly," he said. "How are we supposed to get near it, let alone kill it?"

"That's what we've been waiting for," Walpole said, sounding not a little gleeful. "If everyone could follow me to the roof, please."

The building housing the SDC offices at the corner of Stamford and Coin was not designed for use as an airship dock. That made boarding the HMS George V a less that graceful affair, racing up the ramp as it scraped over the rooftop while the crew attempted to keep the ship in position.

"I've never seen an airship this low over the city," Kaminski said.

"Work here long enough and you'll see just about anything," Clarke said, holding out a hand to help Kaminski and then Chakraborty board. It occurred to Clarke that having all of the SDC detectives on the one airship was a strange risk to take, even with Walpole and the DIs staying behind to monitor from afar.

"Trust me," Kaminski said, looking around the interior of the ship, "this year of all years, I believe you."

The man had a point. If 1972 had been the worst year, with Callihan's death, then 1973 was quickly campaigning to be the strangest. To think that it was only a year previously that the SDC had been taking part in the bicentennial celebrations of the Joining. Clarke had kept a low profile, other than when officially required to attend events, given that he'd never regarded the opening of the portals to be a positive development for any of the three universes.