The God of the Hive - Laurie R. King [59]
“I thought you said we wouldn’t be safe until we had that maniac behind bars?”
I felt as if someone fleeing Vesuvius with me had stopped to fret about the carpets. The obituary had buried any lesser consideration: To my mind, the Brothers case was in a box and temporarily closed away. Who would worry about a mere killer when the world was being engulfed?
Still, Javitz was right. In my concern over having freedom of movement once in London, I could not overlook the lesser dangers, such as the one that had brought us from the sky. Even if that had not been Brothers, there was no doubt that, if he could find us, he would attempt to seize the child. I could not overlook the one responsibility in the interest of the other. God, I wanted Holmes by my side!
“Exactly,” I agreed, to simplify things. “Brothers wants the child. One of his passports had her on it.”
“You don’t think it was Brothers who killed your brother-in-law?”
The question stopped me dead. “I don’t—no, I shouldn’t think so. How would he have made any connexion between Damian and Mycroft? No-one knows.” I was thinking aloud. “Except now you two. Plus that, he was wounded just five days ago—could he have made it to London, found Mycroft, and got close enough to kill him with a knife after being shot? No, it wasn’t Brothers.”
“This happened last night?” Javitz said, and reached for the newspaper to re-read the obituary. “Very quick reporting.”
“He was an important man,” I said. Why didn’t they understand that? I wanted to shout at them, except that would have awakened the sleeping child.
“Estelle and Javitz will be safe here,” Goodman said, for the third time.
“No offence,” the pilot said, “but if I stay cooped up here much longer, I’ll go stir-crazy.”
“So where—” I took hold of my irritation, and lowered my voice. “So where can you go?”
“Someplace that no-one would think to look for me, you said? That pretty much rules out old friends and the couple of cousins I have.”
He, too, was thinking out loud, and since we had already been over this ground twice, I did not hold much hope for an answer from him. I was considering two or three places, but that decision would have to wait until I could lay hands on a telephone.
I pushed back my chair and started to stand, but a sharp, urgent hiss cut my motion. Goodman had turned towards the window, half-open to the night; one hand was raised and outstretched. I froze, straining to hear whatever had attracted him. I heard nothing at all.
Our host did, however. He snapped into motion, twisting the controls of the lamp into darkness and bolting across the room to the door.
“What—” I started, but the door closed and there was only stillness.
Javitz whispered, “Have you any idea what is going on?”
“He heard something. You stay here. I’m going to see if I can tell what it was.”
I felt my way towards the faint rectangle that was the doorway, wishing that the moon were more than five days old, and eased my boots down the two stone steps. When I was away from the house a few feet I stopped, head cocked: nothing.
I stood for five minutes, then six, but all I heard were a series of thumps from Javitz’s crutch moving across the floor and the cry of a fox. I was about to turn back when a faraway crackle of brush was joined by a sharp yell.
“What was that?” came Javitz’s voice behind me.
I grinned. “That was Mr Goodman ‘misleading night-wanderers and laughing at their harm.’ One of our host’s booby-traps.” I had to assume there was more than one man, and that they did not mean us well.
“Someone’s coming?” he asked.
“It may be nothing, but I think we should move back among the trees. Can you see without a light?”
“A little,” he said. “You?”
“My night vision is not great,” I admitted, “but I’ll manage. You go around the back of the house. I’ll bring Estelle.”
He started to protest, but immediately realised that a man with a crutch was not the best candidate for carrying a child. Without another word, he felt around for his