Lockwood & Co.: The Creeping Shadow (45 page)

TERRORIST LINK TO ROTWELL AGENCY!

F
ORBIDDEN WEAPONS FOUND AT RUINED INSTITUTE
S
TEVE
R
OTWELL STILL MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD
F
IRST INTERVIEW WITH
DEPRAC
INVESTIGATOR
M
ONTAGU
B
ARNES INSIDE

The sensational discoveries made in the rubble of the ruined Rotwell Institute facility in Hampshire continued yesterday, with confirmation that police had uncovered the remains of a large “weapons factory” in one of the outbuildings. Among the items recovered are said to be several unexploded “ghost-bombs” of the kind used in a terrorist attack on the London carnival last November, in which an attempt on Ms. Penelope Fittes’s life was made. Several members of the institute staff, including facility chief Mr. Saul Johnson, have been arrested, amid claims that they and agency head Mr. Steve Rotwell were intimately involved in that attack. Mr. Rotwell’s whereabouts remain unknown, but it is believed that he may have perished in the explosions that destroyed the facility.

In today’s exclusive interview in the
Times
, DEPRAC chief investigator Mr. Montagu Barnes gives a detailed account of his team’s dangerous exploration of the ruins. “It was an inferno when we arrived,” he says. “But we managed to discover a store of illicit weapons, including deadly ectoplasm-guns. Ghost-bombs are just the tip of the iceberg, believe me.” He refused to comment on the contents of the central building at the site, which was severely damaged in the incident. “Sadly, the purpose of that building is not yet clear. Rest assured that inquiries are continuing.”

Police investigations widened yesterday, following reports of forbidden Sources found stored at the institute. Several arrests have been made among staff at the Greater London Metropolitan Furnaces in Clerkenwell, and more are expected in the coming days. However, such developments pale into insignificance next to the crisis surrounding the Rotwell Agency. With its leader missing, and other key executives also implicated in serious crimes, public confidence in the organization has plummeted, and its future hangs in the balance. Latest reports suggest that DEPRAC has invited Fittes Agency head Ms. Penelope Fittes to take temporary charge of the rudderless organization in an effort to stabilize its fortunes. She will run both companies from her offices in the Strand.

“Well,” Lockwood said, “that’s another investigation successfully swept under the rug.” He tossed the paper onto the breakfast table and reached for the toast. “Old Barnes is a master at this sort of stuff. All that flimflam with the illegal weapons allows him to quietly gloss over the only important thing, which is the iron circle. Still, I suppose we should be happy that he’s glossed over
our
part in the affair, too.”

“I’m
very
happy about that,” Holly said.

We all were. We were happy about many things that morning. And because of this, we’d decided to enjoy an official celebratory breakfast at 35 Portland Row.

It was the day after our return from Aldbury Castle, and the sun was shining bright. Holly had thrown open the kitchen door. Birds sang, new leaves sparkled; cool spring air flooded the room, almost driving out the smell of George’s smoked kippers. Best of all, the team was there to share the occasion.

The
whole
team, that is. Including me.

Part of my happiness stemmed from the fact that I’d spent the previous night back in my old attic room. Back
for real
, I mean. In a symbolic gesture, George had even taken away most of his clothes. I still had to be careful what I stepped on—the floor was likely to remain a minefield of eerie socks and hankies for a while yet—but it was my place again now.

Well, mine…
and
the skull’s. While I slept it had occupied its old position on the windowsill, from where it could (it claimed) enjoy looking out at the quiet night, and (more probably) try to scare the toddlers in the house opposite by glowing an unholy green. This morning it was down in the kitchen, too, since its retrieval was another thing we were celebrating that day. Within thirty seconds of arriving, however, it had disgraced itself by leering at Holly in such a knowing way that she’d dropped her plate of whole wheat waffles into her lap. It had then been removed from the table and placed in a dark corner by the sink, its jar half shrouded by a dishcloth.

The skull wasn’t the only morally dubious guest that morning. Quill Kipps was there, too. While not himself a member of Lockwood & Co. (which would, in his words, be a fate worse “than being whipped naked across Wimbledon Common”), there was talk of him being a consultant who might be called in from time to time. He was with us that morning to discuss this, and also to celebrate our return to London. Eggs were being poached, bacon was fried, and even Holly’s super-healthy waffles glistened temptingly under oodles of honey and fresh butter. We all ate contentedly and well.

Lockwood sat at the head of the table, passing laden plates, making sure everyone had their fill. I was relieved to see that he looked like his normal self. His color had returned, and he moved with his customary ease. Physically it was taking both of us a long time to recover from our walk through the iron circle. I still felt weary, and had been troubled by obscure nightmares—but these seemed to be lessening. On a morning such as this it was easy to imagine that the effects of our ordeal would soon fade.

At last Lockwood banged a fork against a milk jug. “Time for some toasts,” he said. “I’d like to thank you all for your efforts in Aldbury Castle. George, Holly, and Quill—you did great things at the institute. Without you, Lucy and I wouldn’t have survived.”

Glasses were raised and orange juice drunk. Then Lockwood turned to me.

“Lucy,” he said, “you deserve a special toast. First, for coming back to us. Lockwood and Company was incomplete without you. And second, for intervening when Rotwell had me beaten. You saved my life that night. Thank you.”

His eyes fixed on mine. I did my best to look super-casual, but I could feel a bit of blushing going on. Then I realized that everyone was watching us.

“Ooh, awkward,” George said.

Lockwood grinned and tossed a crust of bread at him. “The truth is, we all rely on each other. Take any one of us away, and we’re all weakened. Together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

“Hear, hear,” Holly said.

“And that brings me to my last toast,” Lockwood finished. “To
new horizons
. Because after the Creeping Shadow and the iron circle and what Lucy and I found on the Other Side, I believe everything has changed. Between us, we’ve discovered things we never imagined. Barnes wants us to keep quiet about it, but we all know that’s impossible. From now on, the scope of our inquiries will be wider. There are many new questions to answer, and our investigations have only just begun.”

We drank and put our glasses down. For a short space everyone was silent; we listened to the birdsong through the open door.

“What
I
want to know,” Holly said, “is what the Creeping Shadow guy was
doing
on the Other Side. Steve Rotwell alluded to some kind of purpose. He wasn’t wandering around out there just for the fun of it. What was he after? Why would anyone take such risks? I can’t imagine
anything
important enough to justify it.”

“Doesn’t
have
to be anything specific.” That was George. Not content with his kippers, he was preparing a final bacon sandwich on an impressive scale. “Sometimes it’s just about exploring the unknown. Give me a suit of iron armor and
I’d
happily travel to the Other Side.”

“Might need to be an extra-large-size suit, particularly if you eat that massive sandwich,” Lockwood said. “You can always borrow the spirit-cape, though.”

“It’s such a pity I lost the other one,” I said. The memory made me feel bad.

Lockwood shrugged. “Can’t be helped. Besides, who knows what’s still packed away upstairs? But we were talking about the Shadow. He was definitely doing
something
. Rotwell said as much. We’ve got to find out what.”

“First we have to get our heads around all of this,” Kipps said. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Nor me,” Holly agreed. “I’m just amazed you’ve both come back in one piece.”

I didn’t say anything. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could still see the black sky stretching over the alternate, frosted world.

“Here’s what I think,” George said, chewing on a piece of bacon. “Lucy and Lockwood went to the place where ghosts come from. At least, it’s where
some
of them are hanging around, ready to step through weak points to our world. Normally we don’t have access to it, though those of us with psychic Sight get glimpses of it, I guess. But then the Shadow crossed over and started strolling around over there, and that got the spirits
very
excited. He had the effect of weakening the barrier between worlds. When you saw him in the churchyard, he was like a ghost, wasn’t he? You were seeing him on the Other Side—the barrier had completely frayed.”

“I wonder if any living person saw
us
,” Lockwood said. “Never thought to ask.”

“So what I’m interested in,” George went on, “is whether anyone’s stirred them up like that before. And if so”—he gestured with a mustard spoon at the map on the wall, the one showing the concentric spread of historic hauntings across the country—“what effect it’s had on the Problem.”

The doorbell rang. Holly was closest. She disappeared into the hall.

“Big mysteries,” Kipps mused. “Going to be tough to solve.”

“Have confidence, Quill,” Lockwood said. “With the team we’ve got, I think we’ll do just fine.” He stretched back in his chair. “Who was at the door, Hol?”

Holly had reappeared, and in the instant before she spoke, we all noticed how pale she was, and how stiff her expression. “We have two visitors, Lockwood,” she said. “I didn’t…I couldn’t…Well, I mean to say, they’re here right now. I’ve had to let them in.”

She stood aside. Behind her, smiling her glossy smile, was Penelope Fittes.

Ms. Fittes stepped into the kitchen. It was a small room, and there wasn’t much space for her. She gazed around at the debris of our meal. She wore a green dress, mid-length, with a dark brown coat on top. As always, she might have been on her way to a dinner party. “Good morning, everyone,” she said. “I hope I’m not intruding. May I come in?”

Well, she already
had
, of course. Lockwood jumped up. “Of course, of course. Please—”

“Just a little visit. No, don’t get up. I wouldn’t want to disturb you. I do have someone else with me, too.” She gestured behind her at a slim young gentleman, with curly blond hair and a neatly groomed mustache, standing in the shadows of the hall. He wore an elegant tweed suit and had a sword-stick hanging at his side. “You know Sir Rupert Gale, I think? An old friend of the Fittes family.”

“Yes, indeed…yes. I’m sorry about the mess here,” Lockwood said. “Shall we go into the living room?”

Ms. Fittes gave a smile. “No, no. I’d like to see where you do your work in your little agency. What a busy breakfast you’ve been having! And this tablecloth, with all these sketches…” She leaned forward to inspect them. “So quaint! So charming…well, possibly not
those
doodles there.”

Lockwood was hurrying over with a spare chair. “I’m sorry. I keep telling George to stick to ghosts. Please sit, ma’am. Sir Rupert, would you care to have mine?”

“No, no thank you. I’m good.” Sir Rupert Gale took up position at the window. He leaned back against the sink and crossed one ankle over the other.

It was no great pleasure for us to have Sir Rupert in our house, since we knew him to be a rogue and a wealthy collector of illicit relics. His past encounters with us had been laced with the threat of violence. But in truth, having Penelope Fittes there was more disconcerting still.

This most illustrious person sat in our private space, smiling at us. The chair that she occupied was a fold-out wicker one, rather inexpensive, with a few ectoplasm burns along the back where it had played a part in one of George’s experiments. Nevertheless, with her long limbs elegantly arranged upon it, and the sunlight shining on her emerald dress, the lady somehow made it look quite chic. She seemed at perfect ease. By contrast, we all sat (or stood) in nonplussed silence. Kipps in particular looked thoroughly mortified. He subtly insinuated himself behind the door, trying to keep out of sight.

Lockwood shook his confusion away. “Tea, ma’am? The pot’s just brewed.”

“Thank you, Anthony. I’ll take a cup.”

As the necessary formalities were completed, Ms. Fittes gazed around the kitchen, her eyes taking in every detail—the remains of breakfast, the salt and iron in the corner, the door to the garden, George’s map of England on the wall. “I’ve come here to thank you,” she said. “To thank you for your services. It’s really been most kind of you.”

“Services, ma’am?” Lockwood passed the tea over.

“I see you’ve been reading the papers.” She indicated the front page of the
Times
. “You’ll have gathered that there are many changes happening in London. In particular, you may have heard that the Rotwell and Fittes agencies are entering an association. Well, I can tell you unofficially that it will be more than that. It is a merger. Rotwell’s is disgraced and in crisis; without swift action, it will fail. So, from now on it will be fully assimilated into the Fittes Agency. That means it is
part
of Fittes, and its executives will report to me.”

She looked around at us, this woman who now controlled the two largest and most powerful organizations in London. “Congratulations, ma’am,” Lockwood said slowly. “That’s…really quite something.”