Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch [59]
‘How would we know when we got there?’
‘I’d know.’
‘Then why don’t you come with us, then?’
‘No way,’ said Beverley. ‘You’re not getting me up past Teddington Lock. I’m strictly tidal, I am.’
Suddenly Molly’s head whipped round to face the door, and a moment later somebody knocked. Beverley looked at me but I shrugged – I wasn’t expecting anyone. I hit mute on the remote and got up to answer. It was Inspector Nightingale dressed in the blue polo shirt and blazer which I recognised as being the closest thing he ever got to casual dress. I stared at him stupidly for a moment, and then invited him in.
‘I just wanted to see what you’d done with the place,’ he said.
Molly shot to her feet as soon as Nightingale came into the room, Lesley got up because he was a senior officer and Beverley stood either from some vestigial politeness or in anticipation of a quick getaway. I introduced Beverley, who he’d met only briefly when she was ten.
‘Would you like a beer, sir?’ I asked.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Call me Thomas, please.’
Which was just not going to happen. I handed him a bottle and indicated the chaise longue. He sat carefully and upright at one end. I sat at the other end while Beverley flopped into the middle of the sofa, Lesley sat slightly to attention and poor Molly bobbed a couple of times before perching right on the edge. She kept her eyes resolutely downcast.
‘That’s a very large television,’ said Nightingale.
‘It’s a plasma TV,’ I said. Nightingale nodded sagely while out of his sight Beverley rolled her eyes.
‘Is there something wrong with the sound?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I have it on mute.’ I found the remote and we got ten seconds of Beat the Rest before I got the volume under control.
‘That’s very clear,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s like having your own cinema.’
We sat in silence for a moment, everyone, no doubt, appreciating the theatre-quality surround sound.
I offered Nightingale a slice of pizza, but he explained that he’d already eaten. He asked after Beverley’s mother, and was told she was fine. He finished his beer and stood up.
‘I really must be on my way,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the beer.’
We all stood up and I walked him to the door. When he left I heard Lesley sigh and flop back on the sofa. I almost shouted when Molly suddenly slid past me in a rustle of fabric and slipped out the door.
‘Awkward,’ said Beverley.
‘You don’t think she and Nightingale … ?’ asked Lesley.
‘Ew,’ said Beverley. ‘That’s just wrong.’
‘I thought you and her were friends?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, but she’s like a creature of the night,’ said Beverley. ‘And he’s old.’
‘He’s not that old,’ said Lesley.
‘Yes he is,’ said Beverley, but however many hints I dropped that evening, she wouldn’t say any more.
The Puppet Fayre
It began when I started a practice session without taking my phone out of my jacket pocket. I even noticed a little flare in intensity when I formed the werelight, but I’d only been reliably casting for two days so it didn’t register as significant. It was only later, when I tried to call Lesley and found my phone was busted that I opened up the case and saw the same trickle of sand I’d noticed at the vampire house. I took it down to the lab and prised out the microprocessor. As it came loose, the same fine sand streamed out of its plastic casing. The gold pins were intact, as were the contacts, but the silicon bit of the chip had disintegrated. The cupboards in the lab were full of the scent of sandalwood and the most amazing range of antique equipment, including the Charles Perry microscope, all put away with such precision and tidiness that I knew no student had been involved. Under the microscope I found the powder to be mostly silicon with a few impurities which I suspected was germanium or gallium arsenide. The chip that handled RF conversion was superficially intact but had suffered microscopic pitting across its entire surface. The patterns reminded me of Mr Coopertown’s brain. This was my phone on