Oddjobs Page 23

  “You don’t have a coaster,” she said.

  Nina excavated a small space patch of desktop on her desk. “There.”

  “But it could spill and stain,” said Vivian.

  Nina plonked a copy of the office phone directory down. “There.”

  “That is the phone directory.”

  “And I never use it. Put the tea down, Vivian.”

  Vivian reluctantly placed Nina’s tea on the directory. “Thin end of the wedge,” said Vivian. “Entropy in action.”

  Nina stopped what she was doing and looked up at Vivian. “Thank you for the tea.”

  Vivian didn’t move. “What are you looking at?” she asked.

  Nina spread out her papers once more. “The paper records for the nine objects we discovered were missing after Izzy Wu broke into the Vault on Sunday-Monday night. We have a knife, an old iron nail, a key, two pieces of jewellery, a fragment of shell, a piece of sheet music, a small pot of draybbea bile, and a pottery thing that might be a cat or possibly a badly modelled and really racist tiny Chinaman.”

  “And you are wondering why Miss Wu would attempt to steal or conceal them.”

  Nina made a confirming hum. “I see no link between them, apart from the fact that, as far as artefacts go, they are so minor as to be entirely worthless.”

  “And you are certain of that?”

  Nina drew her finger down to the box on one of the forms where the expert assessment had been written. “They’re junk. All of them.”

  Vivian went and sat at her own desk. “Maybe the information is incorrect. Maybe they are more significant than they app– What is this?”

  “Hmmm?” Nina looked up.

  “What is this?” asked Vivian and held up a folded rectangle of card, covered in pencil doodles and glitter.

  “Well, it’s a card, isn’t it?”

  “I do have eyes. I am asking why it is on my desk.”

  “Fluke made it for you.”

  “Harvey?”

  “Uh-huh. Think he’s got a soft spot for you. Like a mother-figure thing.”

  Nina flicked through the sheets again. Earring, brooch, eggshell, sheet music.

  “And what’s this supposed to be?” said Vivian, pointing to the artless sketch on the front of the card.

  “It’s you,” said Nina.

  “And these?”

  “Um. Your melons.”

  “Do you mean my breasts, Miss Seth?”

  “Melons was the word he used. From the game, maybe…”

  “No. This will not do,” said Vivian decisively. “I will have him in tomorrow and explain how grossly inappropriate this is.”

  “Woah, there,” said Nina, standing up. “That is not cool.”

  “Those words do not constitute any form of cogent argument. This card is not acceptable and the young man needs to be told.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He really doesn’t. You should have seen the effort he took with that. He had his tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth and everything.”

  “It is offensive.”

  “Okay, so maybe it’s more of a MILF thing he’s got for you – or maybe not – but you can’t tell someone that their handmade present is crap. It’s like… My nanna knits and she knitted this jumper for me for my birthday. It had a puppy on it. I think it was meant to be a puppy. It was green and pink and it was” – she closed her eyes at the memory – “it was so wrong that I didn’t want to bin it, I wanted to have it put down to end its suffering. What I did not do – that’s not do — was tell my nanna. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  Vivian’s look was disapproving.

  “You are the second person today to advocate deception to spare the feelings of others,” she said.

  “Hey, we’re in the deception business.”

  Vivian scooped particles of glitter from her desk into the palm of her hand. “I hardly think comparisons between a knitted jumper and the Venislarn hordes are apt.”

  “True. There’s not much chance of me taking Yo-Morgantus into the back garden and burning him in a dustbin.”

  “But the problem with deception is that you might be found out.”

  “There is that,” said Nina. “My nanna did ask me about it, wondered why I wasn’t wearing it, suggested I wear it the next time I visited her.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Vivian positioned the card on the edge of her desk and looked at it critically.

  “In the end, I had to set fire to my car,” said Nina.

  “Sorry?”

  “I set fire to my car,” said Nina.

  “You committed arson?” said Vivian. “And, one assumes, told your grandma that the jumper was in the car at the time. She didn’t ask why the jumper happened to be in the car at the time?”

  “It was just one item in a long list that was in the fire. There was my mp3 player, my best coat, my handbag…”

  “That’s appalling,” said Vivian.

  “It’s okay,” said Nina, keen to reassure. “The insurance company paid up for everything and, more importantly, my nanna never found out that I really hated that jumper.”

  “Excessive.”

  “Effective.” Nina put her hand to her stomach. She was tired. She’d need to crash soon. Yet another full day after an all-nighter and her food intake amounted to a dodgy curry, a dozen bottles of Boost and whatever junk food she had been able to scavenge throughout the day. Her mind was just a buzz of tiredness, false energy and…

  “Jesus adn-bhul Christ! That’s it! That’s exactly it!”

  “What?”

  Nina grabbed the nine record files off her desk. “If I’d pretended I was robbed or faked an accident in which that jumper – just that one crappy jumper – was destroyed, Nanna might have suspected something. Her focus would have been on the jumper. But I burned the car and everything in it. The jumper was lost in the chaos.”

  Nina crossed to Vivian’s desk and put the papers down. “Nine objects stolen. All of them apparently insignificant.”

  Vivian touched the top papers with her fingertips and slid them aside.

  “It is possible that eight of them were simply taken to conceal the importance of the ninth,” she conceded, “but that does not explain what Izzy Wu did with them.”

  “She didn’t,” said Nina. “She didn’t steal them.”

  “Or where she put them.”

  “She didn’t steal them. She didn’t move them. She did nothing.”

  “You appear to have lost me,” said Vivian.

  “Those items. We would have known they were missing in the next audit anyway. We would have known what we know now, just not had some Venislarn-groupie to pin it on. Because if we couldn’t pin this on Izzy then what conclusion could we have come to?”

  Vivian tapped her fingers on the papers. “An inside job. One of us.”

  Nina nodded. “Because no one else has access to the Vault. Even though the jumper was already destroyed, I had to fake a later crime to account for its disappearance.”

  “This is a rather alarming theory, Nina.”

  Nina laughed.

  “What’s odd is that I happened to recall an event from my life that precisely mirrored what’s going on now.”

  “Hmmm?”

  Nina rubbed her stomach.

  “I think the power of the chef’s special sauce just took a while to work its way through.”

  Rod drove Morag home. She watched his hands on the wheel.

  “I’m not sure you should be driving,” she said as they passed by a small urban zoo.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re missing a finger,” she pointed out. “You’re down to only ninety percent manual dexterity.”

  “Half a finger,” said Rod. “That’s ninety-five percent at least.”

  “It hurts though.”

  “Course it bloody hurts,” he said with a wry smile. “And I’d be resting it at home if Vivian hadn’t thought you were going to start busting heads at th
e Cube.”

  “Not a clue where she got that idea from.”

  “Uh-huh.” Rod turned off the main road. “So, the body in the cathedral…”

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Was it the same guy I saw lurking in the archway at the university?” Morag’s mouth dropped open. “You know, they don’t just let any old idiots into the SAS.”

  Morag sighed in defeat. “Yes. His name was Drew.”

  “Nice guy?”

  “Yes. I don’t know. I only knew him for a few hours.”

  “Aye, but that can be long enough if you know what I mean.”

  She looked at him shrewdly. “I’m not sure that I do.”

  The next turning was Franklin Road. Rod slowed to a stop. Morag looked out at number twenty-seven. “Apparently, there’s a crazy old cat lady living on the top floor,” she said.

  Rod leaned over to look up at the top windows. “Apparently?”

  “She certainly has cats. And a really weird taste in music,” said Morag.

  “You’ve not met her yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “She’s probably lovely.”

  Morag found herself suspecting otherwise. “You go home now,” she said. “To your metrosexual manpad.”

  “Ha!”

  “Sleep. Rest.”

  “I intend to,” he said as Morag opened the door. “You, go make friends with the crazy old cat lady.”

  Morag got out, waved him off and went inside.

  The old house was quiet. There was no noise from Richard’s ground floor flat. Morag climbed the stairs to the first floor and her own front door but did not stop. She carried on up to the bottom of the short flight that led to flat three.

  There was no lazy black cat on the stairs, no peculiar unmusical music or arrhythmic thumping from beyond the door.

  Morag crept up the stairs. If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to rightly say why she was creeping. But then again… Her new boss had placed her in this house deliberately. As a sleeper agent? That was tenuous. But there had also been the business with the taxi driver who had simply driven round the block when she told him to take her to the nearest Venislarn… And, if there was danger in these flats, then already being marked for death made her conveniently expendable, possibly the main and only reason she had been sent down here. If she was living on borrowed time, she might at least be of some use…

  She stood before the door. As well as the cat claw marks around the lower portion of the door, there was a wealth of scratches around the keyhole, as though created by someone or something that only had a rudimentary idea of what locks and doors were.

  Morag reached out to knock, changed her mind and put her ear to the door. Nothing, silence. She closed her eyes and listened deeper.

  In truth, there was no such thing as silence. Even in an empty house, there were the sounds of the house itself: air movement, the geologically slow settling of the building, the accumulated sound of a million dust particles colliding through Brownian motion. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the house breathing, in and out.

  It took Morag some time to comprehend that it wasn’t just the house she could hear. There was a breathing sound, a faint and bronchial wheeze. Morag realised it was shifting in an unusual manner, as though it was rising from more than one throat and, a second later, further realised that the breathing sound wasn’t coming from the other side of the door but from behind her…

  Morag whirled.

  “What ya doing?” said Richard.

  He had a set of deflating bagpipes under his arm. He was holding them as though he had just beaten an octopus in a wrestling match. The last of the air rasped from the bladder.

  “I was thinking of dropping in on my new neighbour.”

  “Mrs Atraxas?”

  “Mrs…?”

  “Atraxas,” said Richard.

  “What kind of name is that?”

  Richard shrugged. “From the old country?”

  “Those are bagpipes,” said Morag.

  “That’s right,” said Richard. “I checked. There’s an open mic talent night at the British Oak tomorrow night. I’ve got my bagpipes, brushed up a few of my one-liners and…”

  “Huh!” Morag laughed to herself. “You’re going to think it’s bizarre but, this morning when you said you played the bagpipes, for a moment I just thought you said it because I suggested it, that you’ve got some kind of uncontrollable need to agree with people.”

  “That is bizarre,” he agreed.

  The silence hung between them.

  “Can you play the bagpipes?” asked Morag.

  “No,” said Richard.

  “Where did they come from then?”

  “I bought them today.”

  “Right. So, you were just going to learn how to play them overnight and then perform at a pub open mic night, just because you can’t bear to disagree with people?”

  Richard’s bowed his head, ashamed.

  “So, um, I guess you don’t want to go to the open mic night with me then?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Morag. “I can’t wait. It’s going to be amazing.”

  Friday

  “The world is going to end. We know that in this job. The Venislarn Apocalypse will come and, on that day, everyone on earth will drown in blood and flame but won’t die. It will be hell on earth for all eternity. That day is coming, waiting for us in the future. Today, we’re going to get a small glimpse of that hell. We believe there will be an incursion by a powerful Venislarn god. We’ve few details. We’ve heard rumours from local Venislarn and gossip from untrustworthy magicians. There’s been no official notification from the court, not a word. But let’s assume it’s going to happen, right? We’re not going to stop it. If the Venislarn want it to happen then we have to let it happen. If lives are to be lost, then they’re to be lost. But, if we can even find out when and where this is going to happen, then, like with a tidal wave or a volcano, we can warn people, get them to move to higher ground.”

  “You move to higher ground when there’s a volcano?” Nina leaned against the office door, keeping it closed.

  Rod cleared his throat. “Higher ground on a different mountain. Point is, our job today is to find out what’s happening and get as many of the public away from the point of impact. That’s our only goal.”

  “Thank you. A truly stirring speech,” said Vivian without any note of warmth or any sign that she had been stirred in any way whatsoever. “And I am pleased you are so excited to be part of this meeting I have called together.”

  “We,” said Nina. “We called the meeting.”

  “Please, Miss Seth. This is about saving lives and preventing human suffering, not pandering to your ego. We are keeping this matter between us four alone. Nina’s theory that the Vault thefts were an inside job seems more than plausible and hints at an even darker possibility: the reason we have not been officially notified of today’s incursion is that it is being brought forward or even instigated by a human agent. We already know that one of our hauliers, Gary Bark, was providing services for the samakha pornographers. Whoever is behind this plot might have turned other consular employees. I can trust you three and no others at this time.” Vivian looked at Morag. “Miss Murray, you are entirely new to the consular mission. I shall assume this means you are innocent of whatever corruption and treachery has infected the mission.”

  “Thank you, Vivian,” said Morag.

  “Miss Seth is the author of our pet theory. It would be an act of overwhelming stupidity, beyond even Miss Seth’s capabilities, to draw attention to a conspiracy to which she is party.”

  “And me?” said Rod. “You trust me.”

  Vivian sniffed. “I am a good judge of character and you are the most trustworthy man I know.”

  Rod pulled an approving face and nodded in quiet agreement.

  “She means men are too simple-minded to be good liars.” Nina smiled sweetly at Rod.

  “That is unfair. A
lthough, in my experience, northerners tend to be unsophisticated creatures, unequipped for guile and duplicity.”

  “Gee Vivian,” said Rod. “You say the nicest things.”

  “See? Even your subtlest sarcasm is heavy-handed and transparent. Rod, I would like you to look at the paperwork for the objects stolen from the Vault.”

  “Oh, you’re giving the orders today as well?”

  “Are you going to get precious about the chain of command?”

  “I’ll let you know,” he took the papers from Vivian.

  “Professor Omar told us that the Venislarn at the centre of the incursion would be either the Nadirian or Zildrohar-Cqulu. We need research. We need clues.”

  “So, who’s tackling the Nadirian and who’s researching Zippy-McCoolio?”

  “Miss Seth, you are to look into the Nadirian –”

  “Actually,” Morag cut in, “I’d like to tackle the Nadirian if that’s all right.”

  “Oh? Any particular reason?”

  “Personal interest, that’s all.”

  Vivian gave her a long look. “Very well,” she said. “Miss Seth, Zildrohar-Cqulu.”

  “Cool.”

  “And you?” asked Rod.

  “What about me?” said Vivian. “I will be providing managerial oversight, support and supervision.” Again there was no hint of irony in Vivian’s voice.

  “Excellent,” he grinned. “My support comes builder’s strength with milk and no sugar, thanks.”

  She held his gaze for a second. “Very well.”

  “And chocolate digestives.”

  “Do not push it.”

  Morag and Nina took the lift down to the Vault together.

  “You’ll notice Rod wasn’t given the research job,” said Nina. “Trying to read Venislarn texts brings him out in cold sweats. He can’t even say Zildrohar-Cqulu, let alone research it.”

  “I’m guessing the Birmingham mission didn’t hire him for his esoteric knowledge.” Morag followed Nina through the lift doors.

  “Nope. This way.”

  Morag had only been down to the Vault once and she was still in ‘awe and bafflement’ mode when it came to the vast underground library-cum-museum.

  Nina led her to a large book-lined room with a reading table at its centre. Morag looked at the shelves of mostly brown and mouldering tomes.