Old Kingdom 04: Across the Wall Read Online Free PDF Page B

next northbound train.’
    ‘Very good, sir,’ replied Hodgeman. He hesitated for a moment, then with a curiously unpleasant emphasis, which Nick would have missed if he hadn’t been paying careful attention, he said, ‘Constable Ripton, you see to Malthan.’
    ‘Just a moment,’ said Nick. ‘I’ve had a thought. Malthan can take a message from me over to my uncle, the Chief Minister, at the Golden Sheaf. Then someone from his staff can take Malthan to the nearest station.’
    ‘One of my men would happily take a message for you, sir,’ said Sergeant Hodgeman. ‘And Dorrance Halt is much closer than the Golden Sheaf. That’s all of twenty miles away.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Nick. ‘But I want the Chief Minister to hear Malthan directly about some matters relating to the Old Kingdom. That won’t be a problem, will it? Malthan, I’ll just write something out for you to take to Garran, my uncle’s principal secretary.’
    Nick took out his notebook and gold propelling pencil and casually leaned against the wall. They all watched him, the five policeman with studied disinterest masking hostility, Lackridge with more open aggression, and Malthan with the sad eyes of the doomed.
    Nick began to whistle tunelessly through his teeth, pretending to be oblivious to the pent-up institutional aggression focused upon him. He wrote quickly, sighed and pretended to cross out what he’d written, then ripped out the page, palmed it, and started to write again.
    ‘Very hard to concentrate the mind in these underground chambers of yours,’ Nick said to Lackridge. ‘I don’t know how you get anything done. Expect you’ve got cockroaches too … maybe rats … I mean, what’s that?’
    He pointed with the pencil. Only Malthan and Lackridge turned to look. The policemen kept up their steady stare. Nick stared back, but he felt a slight fear begin to swim about his stomach. Surely they wouldn’t risk doing anything to Edward Sayre ’s nephew? And yet … they were clearly planning to imprison Malthan at the least, or perhaps something worse. Nick wasn’t going to let that happen.
    ‘Only a shadow, but I bet you do have rats. Stands to reason. Underground. Tea and biscuits about,’ Nick said as he ripped out the second page. He folded it, wrote ‘Mr Edmund Garran’ on the outside, and handed it to Malthan, at the same time stepping across to shield his next action from everyone except Lackridge, whom he stumbled against.
    ‘Oh, sorry!’ he exclaimed, and in that moment of apparently lost balance, he slid the palmed first note into Malthan’s still open hand.
    ‘I … ah … still not quite recovered from the events at Forwin Mill,’ Nick mumbled, as Lack-ridge suppressed an oath and jumped back.
    The policemen had stepped forward, apparently only to catch him if he fell. Sergeant Hodgeman had seen him stumble before. They were clearly suspicious but didn’t know what he had done. He hoped.
    ‘Bit unsteady on my pins,’ continued Nick. ‘Nothing to do with drink, unfortunately. That might make it seem worthwhile. Now I must get on upstairs and dress for dinner. Who’s taking Malthan over to the Golden Sheaf?’
    ‘I am, sir. Constable Ripton.’
    ‘Very good, Constable. I trust you’ll have a pleasant evening drive. I’ll telephone ahead to make sure that my uncle’s staff are expecting you and have dinner laid on.’
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Ripton woodenly. Again, if Nick hadn’t been paying careful attention, he might have missed the young constable flicking his eyes up and down and then twice toward Sergeant Hodgeman—a twitch Nick interpreted as a call for help from the junior police officer, looking for Hodgeman to tell him how to satisfy his immediate masters as well as insure himself against the interference of any greater authority.
    ‘Get on with it then, Constable,’ said Hodgeman, his words as ambiguous as his expression.
    ‘Let’s all get upstairs,’ Nick said with false cheer he