The Policeman of Secrets

Chapter 1 Part 2

Questions were about to pour forth, but Solomon was pulled from his chair and forced towards the fire. He was too confused to resist and watched as the stranger stood in the center of the room, facing the door. He looked ready to spring from the floorboards.

There was a catch, a disturbance in the air. The faintest sounds of movement came from downstairs. Solomon had heard no glass breaking or damage caused, yet somebody was in his shop. He made to investigate, but Balthazar gestured for him to remain still then he unbuttoned his tattered coat. A small smile in the firelight revealed a glint of a golden tooth.

The stairs creaked softly beneath the soles of more than one pair of feet. Again Solomon prepared to speak, but the stranger’s expression brooked no argument.

The parlor door quickly opened, and figures rose from the darkness of the stairwell. The first two the bookseller recognized: street toughs often seen at hostelries close by. Their clothes were hard and heavy, their expressions cold and brutal. They stepped forward, eyes flicking around the shadowy room then settling on Balthazar and Solomon.

Behind them, almost hidden by their hulking frames, were two more shapes. Both wore costly boots and hooded travelling coats in darkest green that brushed the floor.

The larger of the two removed his hood first, revealing the face of a badly scarred man with a bullet head sitting atop a thick body.

The other was a woman, judging by the rich black hair that shrouded a pale countenance and then fell down the front of the coat. A delicate, long-fingered hand with nails painted in deepest purple rose to pull back the hood, and the gesture uncovered a beautiful, well-bred woman in her early thirties, with piercing dark eyes and full lips. Her expression was one of amusement, but there was harshness in it, and those eyes seemed to search through the gloom like those of a fox after its prey.

Balthazar was unmoved by the new arrivals. He gestured as if welcoming them in, and focused on the better-dressed pair. “Mr. Crowe, good to see you once again. And you have brought Elizabeta with you. Charmed as always.”

He gave the woman a half-bow, but never took his eyes from them. “Are you here to talk, or shall we simply begin our business once again? I am a little tired, so you will excuse me if am slightly below my best. As, indeed, you seem to be. Crowe, I could hear you picking the locks of my good friend’s shop while we were deep in the most fascinating discussion. You are certainly not the adversaries I remember.”

The figure he had named as Elizabeta spoke English with a cultured German accent, her tone condescending and sharp. “Give us the information we want, Balthazar, and we shall all go about our business this cold night hale and hearty. You know the price of delay.”

That thin hand rose again and she pointed towards his wounded arm and leg, but he did not glance down to the blood trickling into an expanding pool beneath his feet. Her face tilted to one side, as if in curiosity at his plight. The two brutes stood, unmoving and clearly waiting for a command, as she continued. “We know you seek the Lenksham. Your last contact was good enough to tell Mr. Crowe of your success so far, and your plans for the future—what little there remains of it—before he found our questioning a little too vigorous.”

The man Crowe laughed, the rumbling bass sound echoing around the room. “He could talk, that one. Talk and talk and talk. Anything to stop the pain.” He smiled, and there was a long pause. “It’s stopped now, though. No more pain. No more man.”

He rocked with sudden crazed delight, then quickly stilled. Balthazar flinched, and Solomon saw his knuckles whiten, but he remained silent.

Stepping towards a corner away from her companions, Elizabeta went on: “So, Count, what shall it be? A charming conversation packed with witticisms and gossip, as enjoyed by the civilized society of which you were once a part?