Free V 02 - Domino Men, The by Barnes-Jonathan

“Party’s over.  To business.”
    “I’d like to know what you want with me.”  I spoke as calmly and precisely as I could.  “I’m nothing special.  I’m just a filing clerk.  I’ve got nothing to do with your civil war.”
    “You’re quite correct.”
    “Oh.”  I was faintly hurt by this.  “Am I?”
    “There is nothing special about you, Henry Lamb.  Not remotely.  And yet your grandfather — he was remarkable.  I knew him very well.  For a time, we were even friends.”
    “You and he?  Friends?”
    “Certainly.  Indeed, it’s only because he held such inexplicable affection for you that you are summoned here at all.  I’m sure that this is how he wanted it to be.  When you work alongside someone for as long as we did, you get to know the way they think.  And I’ve little doubt that this is what he meant to happen.”
    Certain peculiar suspicions were coalescing in my mind.  “Granddad was something to do with all this, wasn’t he?”
    Dedlock and Jasper exchanged watchful glances.
    “Was he…”  I trailed off, hardly daring to articulate the thought.  “Was he one of you?”
    The old man gave a long, sober stare.  “There was a time, long ago, when I would have said he was the best of us.”
    “Tell me more,” I said.  “Right now.”
    Dedlock turned away and started to paddle over to the other side of his tank.  “We’re looking for a woman named Estella.  Find her and the war is at an end.  Your grandfather was the last man alive who knew where she was and I can only hope that he has done us the courtesy of leaving us a clue.  I need you to take Jasper to the hospital.”
    “Why on earth—”
    “This is a direct order.  Your generation may be a soft and feckless one but you are at least familiar with the concept of an order, yes?”
    I said nothing.
    “In good time, Henry Lamb, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.  Until then — do your duty.”  And with this final exhortation, dolefully delivered, the old man turned his back upon us and gazed silently out across the sky.

 
     
     
Chapter 8

     
    When we arrived at the Machen Ward we were told that the old bastard was being washed — a ghastly, ghoulish sponge bath which I had no desire to witness.  Jasper and I retreated to the canteen, where we shared an awkward half hour with two lukewarm coffees and a rubbery BLT.
    It was only then that I was finally able to persuade Mr. Jasper to listen.  During the journey from the Eye, punctuated by bursts of indiscriminate bitterness from our driver, he had sat in solemn silence, ignoring or rebuffing my every attempt at conversation.
    “I need to ask you about the war,” I said, for what felt like the fifth or sixth time that day.
    “Fire away,” Jasper said sardonically.
    “The House of Windsor…  they’re the royal family, right?”
    A yawn, a nod:  “Your point being?”
    “It’s just that I never thought of them as particularly malevolent.  Slightly embarrassing, yes, a bit kooky, maybe, but—”
    “They would see London in ruins.  They would see the city laid waste.”
    “Why?  Why on earth would they want that?”
    Jasper gave something approaching a sneer.  “Let’s hope you never have to find out.”
    “Did you know him?” I asked.  “My grandfather?”
    “Before my time.  Way before my time.”
    “But you’ve heard of him?”
    “He’s a legend in the Service.”
    “Why couldn’t you come to see him on your own?  Why do you need me?”
    “I tried.  But even incapacitated, your grandfather is potentially lethal.  He’s set up some kind of psychic boundary.  No one comes close unless he wants them to.”
    “What?”
    “The Directorate believes in magic, Henry.  It always has.”  Jasper pushed away his sandwich barely touched, prissy disdain flickering across his face.  “This plate’s dirty.”  He glanced about him at the café like he was battling to suppress a shudder.  “This whole place is