PROBLEM - Anthony Lockwood

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

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xxi

this is like fun and all but can we think about how stupid this is

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THEY GASPED LIGHTLY as they exited the elevator to end up in a large, modern office. It was elaborate with its design but also sleek and classy.

Everything was cooltoned, silver. Alice hated it.

More so when she realised that almost everything in this room was made of iron.

George whistled.

Lucy looked around, her voice was a mixture of sarcasm and being impressed. "Straight into the office, classy move."

Lockwood looked around in awe, "This is Sir John Fairfax's office."

George shook his head as they walked through the office and towards a wall of windows. "This doesn't make sense. Sir John Fairfax doesn't need us. He's famous. He's rich. He built Fairfax Iron."

"He built this whole building," Lockwood added.

Alice hated him already. She crossed her arms as they all stared out of the window, "Don't you think that it's grim someone's made this much money off the Problem?"

"I deserve something for keeping the country safe at night, don't I?"

All four of them turned around in shock to see an old white man with a crisp suit and crazy glint in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Alice said suddenly, but she didn't feel very sorry at all.

"No, you're right; it is grim," Fairfax agreed, "The Problem has disfrigured the whole world."

Lockwood stepped forward, extending his hand to shake, "A pleasure to meet you, Sir. Anthony Lockwood. George Karim, Lucy Carlyle and Alice Deane," he guestured to each of them in turn as he said their names, "We're Lockwood and Co.."

Fairfax nodded, a faraway look in his eye as his gaze landed on Alice. "Deane?" he questioned.

Someone this well connected, so high up, would know. Would know what that name meant.

Alice nodded, "You know my surname, sir?" she shifted, looking up at him and ebbing magic into her stare so that the lie she said next was more believable, "I unfortunately know nothing. I was dropped off at an orphanage as a newborn with nothing but a note that said my name."

Fairfax nodded, something strange in the way he looked at her, "I see. That's very unfortunate." He turned back to Lockwood, "Take a seat. Under the sprinklers."

They looked up, chuckling sheepishly before sitting at the sofas. Lucy and George sat on one, while Lockwood and Alice sat on the other.

"I must say, we didn't expect to be dealing with you personally when we answered your ad," Lockwood commented.

"It's a delicate situation. Best handled discreetly," Fairfax explained. "I've decided to let go of a few properties, including Combe Carey Hall in Berkshire. Nice enough place, but it has a rather stubborn collection of visitors. Something I've worked very hard to keep out of the papers, of which my prospective buyer knows nothing."

Combe Carey what?

He can't be serious...

Alice mentally rolled her eyes.

"So you need it made safe before the buyer visits," Lucy mused.

"Exactly. And I cannot risk damage so there can be no flares or explosives," Fairfax replied, "It's a dangerous job, to be done quickly and under the radar. I'm getting quotes from every significant outfit in London. So, to be frank, the only way an agency of your standard could get it is by underbidding."

Lockwood stared at him, confidently speaking, "Our service is just as good as our larger competitors - we don't need to chase down cut-rate jobs."

Fairfax humoured him, "You lie like a politician. But I started out in casinos, Mr. Lockwood, I can always spot a bluff."

George leaned forwards, "Do you think you'll get discretion from Fittes and Rotwell? Every decision they make gets debated by committee."

"And you need something more nimble," Lucy added, "Like us, a small independent."

Alice tilted her head as she next spoke, sitting confidently and pouring magic into her words, "And I've heard of Combe Carey Hall before, sir, it's essentially a death trap. And you mentioned yourself that you'd been working hard to keep it out of the papers." Alice clasped her fingers, "But then again, you could always choose Rottwell or Fittes and end up with your face plastered on every newspaper in London and have to spend a fortune on damage control." Alice flicked her hair slightly, "We're the only agency in London who can do this job the way you need it doing."

Fairfax flashed a fake smile, "Nice pitch." His face hardened, "But I work very closely with DEPRAC and I don't think this is a job they'll let you do."

"That's why it's probably best if they don't hear about it," Lockwood mused.

"Think of it as colateral," Alice added, "To ensure that we won't go running to the papers."

Fairfax surveyed them for a moment, he shifted. "Rotwell just quoted me 90 grand. I won't pay you a penny more than the fine you owe DEPRAC. What is it? 40? 50?"

"60, actually," Lockwood corrected, "You're obviously a busy man, Sir John. You pay our fine and we'll fix your house. So... do we have a deal?"

He gave them a tight-lipped smile, "You make a good Jemima and Imran."

...

Lucy gasped as they made their way out of the building, "I can't believe he's paying us 60 grand."

"We haven't got it yet, and we have to move fast," Lockwood reminded.

George grinned, "He called you Jemima and Imran."

Alice squealed, "I know, right! This is the best day of my life."

Lockwood turned to them as they decended the stone stairs, "Lucy, get us packed and prepped, George, find out everything you can about Combe Carey Hall, and Alice come with me to Satchells to find out what we can get that doesn't explode. Tell no one."

And he grabbed Alice's hand and continued running down the steps.

Bloody hell.