Horizons of Deceit, Book 1 Read online

  “Well,” said Arnaud, and the girl’s interest noticeably peaked when she caught his French accent, “we were wondering if we could talk to someone regarding the whereabouts of one of the teachers here.”

  “Of course, monsieur,” she said, doubtless feeling very cosmopolitan. “Which of our esteemed professors can I help you locate?”

  “We’re looking for Doctor Garrecreux,” said Arnaud cheerfully. “Doctor Fabrice Garrecreux.”

  The girl’s face fell.

  “Well,” she said, pursing her lips. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Give me a moment, if you would. I’m afraid this is a matter I’ve been instructed to bring straight to the Vice-Chancellor.”

  6.

  ARNAUD AND COYNE had waited patiently in the ante-room adjoining the reception, pointedly not talking to each other and studying portraits on the walls and the pot plant in the corner. About twenty minutes passed, then the young girl popped her head around the corner and cleared her throat.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, somewhat more formally than before, “Vice-Chancellor Bannerjee will see you now.”

  She led them efficiently and silently through the department and up a flight of stairs at the end, heading to the administrative heart of the college. Typewriters clacked behind closed doors, punctuated by the shunt of filing cabinet drawers being pushed into place. The wooden walls and air of quiet decorum could have come from any of the colleges in Oxford or Cambridge, though the bright light through the windows offered more illumination than had been seen in those dusty corridors for many, many years. The girl led them to a large set of double doors and curtseyed gently.

  “He’s expecting you,” she said. “Go on in.”

  Sir Gurudas Banerjee held the distinction of being the first Indian Vice-Chancellor of Calcutta University, and had inauspiciously begun his post by having to deal with a scandal in the geology department that was not of his making, the details of which Arnaud was about to learn.

  His office, like much of the university, was a seamless integration of British institutionalism and Indian exoticism. It had wood-panelled walls that eschewed the rectangles of Imperial design, instead choosing curls and onion-shaped domes. A classically large bookcase stood against one wall, an Indian rug covered the floor and a tea set sat before a green leather Chesterfield to the left of where Arnaud and Coyne entered. Vice-Chancellor Banerjee smiled at them warmly. He was a thick-set man, authoritative but welcoming, dressed in a turban atop a morning suit that had the collar open to accommodate the heat.

  “Gentlemen,” he smiled, “please take a seat. Can I offer you any refreshment?”

  Arnaud and Coyne politely declined, and Vice-Chancellor Banerjee relaxed back in his chair as his guests sat before him.

  “Let us dispense with any formality,” he said. “Miss Warrington informed me you have asked after Doctor Garrecreux.”

  Arnaud looked at Coyne, unsure as to whether he or the agent should take the initiative. Coyne’s dismissive, feline look told the young Frenchman he was on his own; it was almost as if the spy found the whole mission to be a dull chore.

  “That’s true, Vice-Chancellor. We are.”

  “And why, might I ask, are you looking?”

  “We were hoping to count on his expertise. Did you hear of the bomb attack in London recently?”

  “There’s very little of British business that does not get reported here, sooner or later,” sighed the Vice-Chancellor. “And so we heard of it. A terrible affair.”

  “Bon. And so we have been sent by Her Majesty’s Admiralty to investigate any possible leads that may lead to the perpetrators, and we believe Dr Garrecreux may be able to assist us with the identification of certain…”

  “Please,” said Gurudas, “I am sympathetic to your goals, but am not sure how I can help you achieve them. Doctor Garrecreux is gone, Mister…?”

  “Fontaine,” said Arnaud, “Doctor Arnaud Fontaine.”

  “Doctor Fontaine,” said the Vice-Chancellor, leaning forward, “while we are more than aware of the Empire’s business on these shores, perhaps the scandals of Her Majesty’s outposts do not reach London. If they did, surely you would have heard of Dr Garrecreux’s…in the words of your countrymen, faux-pas.”

  Arnaud shifted in his seat. Coyne gazed away, still bored. The Vice-Chancellor waved away their discomfort.

  “Politics is something one must face as the head of a university, Doctor Fontaine. It is nothing new. The pressures of dealing with such issues are manifold in India, on a local and global scale. This,” he cleared his throat, “faux-pas of Doctor Garrecreux was something far less pressing than other difficulties my country may be facing, but was nevertheless an issue I could have done without, both personally and professionally.”

  “Of course,” nodded Arnaud, feeling like a chided schoolboy.

  “Good.” Having got this out of his system, Vice-Chancellor Banerjee seemed to relax, satisfied he had made his point. It was almost as if he blamed Arnaud for his ersatz teacher’s behaviour on account of their shared heritage.

  “Do not misunderstand me,” he continued, carefully. “I have the utmost respect for Her Majesty’s Navy. I have heard tales of the ruthlessness with which the Mutiny was suppressed; the last thing I wish is for such a power to be brought to bear on Calcutta. You have seen, I take it, Black town?”

  “I have,” answered Arnaud.

  “Then you have seen what the Navy’s guns could do to such a settlement—the people there are barely protected from the weather, let alone cannon fire. And yet I fear, Doctor Fontaine, that Black Town is an area you may have to get more familiar with, should you wish to find Garrecreux.”

  “Told ya,” muttered Coyne.

  Both Arnaud and the vice-chancellor ignored him.

  “Any information you could give me regarding his whereabouts would leave me sorely in your debt, Vice-Chancellor.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know, of course, along with any other information I have that may help you navigate Black Town safely. But I would ask you, with all due respect, that you keep the scandalous nature of Garrecreux’s behaviour to yourself. This is a respected place of learning, and I do not want my tenure at its helm to be tarnished any further by that irascible, weak-willed blackguard.”

  “Of course not,” said Arnaud, once more feeling he was somehow being blamed by implication. The vice-chancellor narrowed his eyes and studied Arnaud’s face for a moment, and Arnaud knew that any gesture of uncertainty, even the slightest indication that he was not being wholly sincere, would have caused Arnaud and Coyne to leave none the wiser of Garrecreux’s current location.

  After a moment, it seemed Arnaud had passed the test.

  “Very well,” nodded the vice-chancellor. “I will tell you. As so often happens, the cause of Fabrice Garrecreux’s fall into infamy was a woman. You will not be surprised to learn that she was young, beautiful… And dangerous.”

  7.

  PHOENIX PARK COULD be found just west of the centre of Dublin, an expansive green space north of the Liffey that provided Dubliners young and old, rich and poor, with respite from the chaos of the city. Despite having quickly and efficiently reclaimed his debt from his acquaintance at the Library (the details of which Nathaniel was spared, much to his relief), Tally had refused to pay for a cab and insisted on walking the mile or so from Temple Bar. The sky had turned ashen as the afternoon had aged, a cold wind blowing in from the bays on the east. Not having eaten since breakfast, Nathaniel found his mood becoming ever more tetchy, not helped by Tally cheerfully reminding him every few minutes he was ten bob up.

  “I don’t care if you’re rich beyond the dreams of Solomon,” grumbled Nathaniel, after the fifth time Tally’s suspiciously-gained wealth was mentioned. “Are we nearly there yet?”

  “Ah, quit your gabbin’, and be grateful the Zoological Gardens are on the side of the park closest to us.”

  Nathaniel had endured many perils and unenviable situations during his adv
entures, but none had yet had the ability to irritate him quite as much as the combination of an empty belly and a chipper Irishman. Eyes peeled for somewhere he could at least grab himself a snack, he trudged on.

  When they reached the park, they walked up through the people’s garden, a delightful evocation of current horticultural fashion, which now seemed mournful due to the cold and the fading light. Dublin’s denizens were scampering back to hearths and home-cooked food, almost as if they were primordially aware of the heinous feats of villainy that the area would be subjected to that very night… And, in fact, had already and violently begun.

  Tally strode up to the entrance lodge, a small cottage building with a thatched roof, as proud as you like and as happy as a clam. He greeted the porter who stood in the building like an old friend, but the man’s reaction was such as to make it clear that he didn’t know Tally from Adam, and nor did he wish to.

  “Hullo, my good man,” began Tally’s charm offensive. “I was wondering if we might not take a quick squint round, take in the beasts in the dying light, so to speak.”

  “Well you can wonder otherwise, and sling yer hook into the bargain. Nobody in tonight. That’s what they told me, and that’s what’s happening.”

  “Ah, we’ve still got an hour or two of good light left. Maybe more if the clouds blow over. We’re paying customers.”

  “Are your ears blocked, sonny, or do I need ta box ’em open?”

  “Now now, no need for that, my man. Truth is I got a nephew works in there, feeding the ferrets and that. Simon, his name is. And young Simon, y’see, his Ma’s awful sick with the gout, an’…”

  “Young Simon, you say?” said the porter, stiffening up.

  “Aye, that’s him. Simon Sheen.”

  “Well if that’s the case his Ma’s got more to worry about than her gout. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but yer nephew had an accident, not more an’ an hour ago. Seems as if he went and dropped himself in with the lions. Poor bugger didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Simon? You’re telling me Young Simon’s dead?”

  “Well, what’s left of him ain’t movin’ around so much, so I’d guess so.”

  “Well I gotta get in there man, I’m family!”

  “That’s as maybe, but the constabulary were pretty firm in tellin’ us there’s no use having all an’ sundry gawkin’ at bloodstains. I’m sorry for yer loss, fella, I really am. But it ain’t gonna happen tonight.”

  8.

  TALLY WAS SITTING with his head on his hands on the kerbstone. He and Nathaniel had walked away quietly, Tally clearly shaken, and had taken up residence in a darkened stretch of Chapelizod Road, where the Irishman had stopped and sat to gather his thoughts.

  “I wasn’t even really his uncle,” he said, mostly to himself. “I was just knocking off his ma….”

  Nathaniel wasn’t sure what to say. He genuinely felt for Tally, whose mood of gregarious energy had been replaced by one of sorrow and deep despondence. Once or twice he thought to reach forward to comfort the man, but Tally’s blank-eyed stare across to the other side of the road seemed to indicate that any solace Nathaniel might have offered would have gone at least unheeded, at worst returned with anger. Nathaniel was left in a state of disturbed contemplation. This turn of events was worrying indeed, and the fact that Tally’s contact at the zoo had met such an ignominious end was a coincidence he was sure had grave and dangerous connotations. It was clear that Tally was thinking the same.

  “It’s not right, is it?”

  “I’m sorry?” said Nathaniel, drawn suddenly from his mulling.

  “The fact that Young Simon noticed all that, with the ground shakin’ and him asking questions… That you and I were only talkin’ about it last night, and then he meets his end? Just like that?” Tally’s quiet anger had been replaced by resolution, and the fog of mourning had parted to reveal a need for answers in his heart…and retribution in his eyes.

  “I must be honest with you, Tally,” said Nathaniel, easing himself to sit beside his friend. “I’ve found that in these matters there is no such thing as chance, no arbitrary occurrences… These people I was sent here to stand against, to fight… They have no mercy, no remorse, no respect for the lives of young or old, or for families….” He looked Tally straight in the face, and the Irishman’s eyes had turned as hard as old bones. “The plots that I have encountered, the greed, the violence, it goes far beyond any petty squabbles our respective countries may have. They are but trifling when compared with the evil men may do to harness the powers opened up to humanity when we discovered how to fly between the void. I know this may seem harsh, but there is far more at stake at the moment than the freedom of Ireland, or the life of your poor, departed nephew.”

  “Oh, I know that well enough,” said Tally. There was steel in his voice. “And that’s it though, isn’t it? Simon, he was a, he was…” And Tally began to laugh, recalling him. “He was pretty feckin’ useless, truth be told. His ma used to badger me to get him along on a few of me jaunts, y’know? Get him to earn a bit more coin, have him as a bit more than the man who tosses grain in the cages. But I knew he couldn’t hack it an’ I knew he was happy where he was. Harmless to boot. An’ these bastards still think it fit to take his life.”

  “These are the men,” said Nathaniel quietly, “that must be fought.”

  “Then fight ’em I shall,” said Tally. “And a lion’s claws will be like God’s grace compared to what I’ll do when I get my hands on ’em.”

  At that sentiment Nathaniel found himself smiling.

  9.

  TALLY SEEMED RENEWED and, rather worryingly, imbued with a vengeance. Nathaniel knew that those at their angriest were prone to make the greatest mistakes, and while he appreciated how Tally’s zeal may help them, he was also concerned that it might prove to be their undoing.

  They had returned the way they had come and were skirting back around the walls of the park. As soon as they had found a sufficiently darkened and quiet section of the wall, Tally hoisted himself up and was offering Nathaniel a hand in order to haul him after him. After a short scuffle accompanied by only the mildest of swearing from Tally, they were both over the brink and into the darkened park. The night was still and cold, illuminated by a frozen and unfeeling moon. The grass seemed crisp beneath their feet, the trees still in the black and breezeless air. Tally, it seemed, was in his element. He slinked around, quickly and half-crouched, with an almost instinctive ability to stay unseen in the shadows. Such was his ability to lose himself in the dark he had to backtrack once or twice to show Nathaniel the way after losing him, and quickly the pair made their way towards the silent stillness of the zoo.

  As a child, Nathaniel had been fascinated by exotic beasts, and had spent as much time in London Zoo studying them first-hand as he had poring over them in books and magazines. Nevertheless, he knew his timorous childhood self would have felt somewhat differently having encountered the zoo at night—this was a place of terror. Growls emanated from cages, permeated by the padding of clawed feet more suited to the dust of the African plains. Birds with beaks as long as their bodies would shriek suddenly, the clatter of their black wings filling the air and dying again just as suddenly. Though Tally seemed impervious to these shocks to the senses, Nathaniel felt the need to steel himself against such savage noises. Even a Russian could be reasoned with; the same was not true of a tiger. And yet, if his fears proved true concerning the fate of Tally’s nephew, he was genuinely unsure which killer he would choose to face.

  He almost cried out when he bumped into Tally, who had stopped and crouched in the darkness before him.

  “Good grief,” he hissed. “You’re like a ghost.”

  “Aye, well, when you’ve been about as much as I have, Professor, you know when it pays to keep yourself hidden. Quick question.”

  “Go on.”

  “Now we’re here, what the feck do we do next?”

  It was a good point. Nathaniel had been too c
oncerned with stealth to give much thought to a plan, but now that they had stopped he devoted his mind to thinking about the situation logically and practically.

  “If we’re going on the assumption that your nephew was murdered, we must also assume that his observations were correct—that there is, indeed, something rotten under the grounds of the zoo that out enemies will kill to keep secret. So we need somewhere that is deeper than the rest of the park, but close… Now, you mentioned earlier these two men. The English, the bomb-maker, he seems happy to kill from afar, with fire and cowardice. But the other one, well… I think he’s more of the ‘hands-on’ of the two, regardless of what his hands are actually made of. And if he draws the eye, their base of operation must be close to the lion’s enclosure in order that this big fellow is seen as little as possible. Any ideas?”

  “Not just an idea,” said Tally, who seemed to have regained some of his previous joie-de-vivre, “but a good one to boot. C’mon.”

  Shortly they found themselves outside a darkened, circular building made of thick, solid stone. Though built in an older style, the freshness of the mortar and the cleanliness of the bricks was apparent to Nathaniel even in the sombre lunar light.

  “Of course!” he exclaimed, chiding himself. “You said as much yourself. This must be the area that was closed off before….”

  “Aye.” Tally grinned. “That it was. And you can smell the lions from here.” He delved into his pocket and brought out a small pen-knife and a lockpick. “Give me a jiffy,” he murmured, before getting to work on a lock that Nathaniel could barely see in the gloom, let alone attempt to open.

  Shortly, and with a muttered swear-word of triumph, the lock clicked heavily and the door squeaked open just an inch on its hinges.

  “I do wonder about your past, Tally,” observed Nathaniel.

  “Bugger the past,” said Tally. “Just appreciate I’m a professional in the present.” Unable to argue with the logic, Nathaniel followed him inside.

  10.

  THEY FOUND THEMSELVES in a large, doughnut-shaped atrium that arced away to the left and right. The air was humid and still. Lining the walls were glass-fronted exhibition cabinets filled with various earthly environments—the fronds of ferns, thick branches leaning diagonally between them, shallow green pools and patches of desert sand. In the dim light that glowed within them, the animal eyes of reptiles and rodents would flash momentarily before fleeing into the shadows.