The Kidnapping King

A THICK SKIN

BASEMENT OF BUCKINGHAM PALACE - LONDON, ENGLAND - 1917 

 "If you're not a spy, tell me, again, why you have this map of the tunnels beneath the city, and directions for breaking into the royal palace." The officer waved Grandma Lydia's handwritten map in Jack's face.

"I already told you," Jack replied, gazing around at the men in uniform crowding the jail outside his cell, "my grandfather works here," he mumbled, shaking his head back and forth, and rattling the chains binding his arms. "My grandmother drew that map for me from memory...she used to visit him using these tunnels. That's how she knows the way in."

Jack was thankful they at least allowed him to keep the thick, woolen coat after searching the pockets and confiscating his belongings. Even though it was unseasonably warm outside for early January in London, down here, in the basement of the palace, the hard stone floor and wrought iron bars made for a chilly environment.

"Uh-hu...and what is it, exactly, that your granddad does in the palace?" There were crumbs in the man's mustache that Jack found distracting as he tried to satisfy his curiosity.

"My grandfather, Edward Mac Paidin, is the royal hat maker," he started, "My grandma told me that his office is twelve doors down on the right hand side, after I enter the tunnel marked with the initials BH on the name plate. She said his door will have a top-hat engraved on the brass marker."

He looked into the officer's bulging brown eyes, "I promise! Have someone check and see. That should be easy enough to verify, right?"

The man scrunched his eyebrows together then turned his back on Jack, staring out through the bars at the group of guards, listening intently, several feet away.

"Wiggins," he addressed a ginger-haired man who immediately snapped to attention,

"Yes, Detective?"

"See to it." The officer tipped his head toward the hallway and the other man nodded in response, turning to exit the room.

"Any decent spy would know those kind of details, kid," he turned to face Jack again, scratching his scruffy chin, "But you should check your facts better in the future. Your story is only partially correct," he tipped his head to the side, "The royal hat maker is Mr. Mac Paidin, alright. But his name isn't Edward, it's William." He grinned, slowly shaking his head from side-to-side when Jack jutted his chin out and knitted his brows together. "Nevertheless," the detective continued, "even if the rest of what you're saying was true, I'd have to ask myself why you'd need to sneak in through the tunnels? Why wouldn't your granddad make arrangements and get permission for you to visit him at his office? No granddad worth his salt would expect his... how old are you, anyway?" He paused, squinting at Jack,

"Almost thirteen," Jack blinked hard and dipped his head.

"Yeah, ok, so, what kind of granddad would expect his thirteen year old grandson to go sneaking around the tunnels, beneath the royal palace, to come see him?"

Jack inhaled deeply, "It's complicated," he sighed, "Grandpa isn't exactly expecting me," he pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes up to the look at the bumpy, gray-rock ceiling, "I've never actually met him before...so, it's kind of a surprise visit." He looked at the man again, whose mouth was curling up at the corners. There was commotion from outside his cell as the others gathered there laughed and made faces at one another.

"Ah-ha...I see," the officer spoke with a sarcastic tone in his voice and rolled his eyes,

"and that telescope?" he pointed across the room, past the guards, to where the scope sat on the desk's surface, "that's a pretty fancy instrument for a thirteen year old to be carrying around. What'd you need that for?"