I looked at Molly, and she looked at me. Oh yes, we knew them well enough. Thugs, bully-boys, werewolves. We both smiled politely at Nicolai.
“We’ve met,” I said. “Most recently at the Lady Faire’s annual do, at Ultima Thule.”
He shook his old head sadly. “Ah yes. I understand they disgraced themselves . . . ?”
“You could say that,” I said. “They were asked to leave and had to walk home. Did they get back safely?”
“Eventually,” said Nicolai. “Such boisterous boys!”
“Boisterous . . . ,” I said. “Yes.”
“We were always bumping into each other, Jack and I,” Nicolai said carefully. “In this city, or that. In this country, or that. Some of which don’t even exist any more . . . In secret science cities, or hidden underground bunkers, usually trying to kill each other as we fought it out for the same prize. For what seemed like perfectly good reasons at the time.”
Molly and I looked at each other and shared a smile.
“We’ve been there,” I said. “Molly and I were often at each other’s throats when we weren’t fighting back to back.”
“The good old days,” said Molly. “Before we settled down and got civilised.”
“Well, almost,” I said.
I returned my attention to Nicolai, who was waiting patiently. I gave him my best meaningless smile. “So, you and Jack knew each other during the Cold War. Did you know his brother James as well?”
“Oh yes!” he said immediately. Glad to be back on familiar ground. “I knew the Grey Fox. Everyone did, in our line of work. One way or another. James had the reputation, but Jack did good work too. Getting things done in his own quiet way.”
He reached inside his jacket, with a heavily wrinkled but still very steady hand, and I tensed for a moment until he brought out a battered leather wallet, from which he produced an old black and white photo. He handed it to me, and I held it carefully so Molly could see it too. The photo showed a much younger Nicolai and Jack, standing side by side in tuxedos, at some glittering ambassadorial ball. They were both smiling for the camera, but their body language suggested a wary and even watchful feel, as though they’d been brought together only by circumstance, in roles that they were required to play in public. They both looked as though they might draw a weapon at any moment. And they both looked so young, and in their prime, with that indefinable glamour so many secret agents had, back in the day, almost despite themselves. When the sides were clear, everybody’s reasons were clear-cut, and everyone knew what they were doing, and why.
“This is from the Sixties?” I said to Nicolai. “Thought so . . . I have to say, you don’t look nearly old enough for this to be you . . .”
“State secret,” he said smoothly, smiling fondly at the old image of himself. “We still have a few left in my country.”
“Who’s that?” Molly said suddenly, pointing at a figure standing behind the young Jack and Nicolai. “I feel I should know him . . .”
Nicolai studied the image carefully. “Yes . . . I remember him! Something of a mystery man, as I recall. Such an unusual name . . . Deathstalker.” He saw me and Molly react, and raised an eyebrow. “You know this man?”
“I know the name,” I said.
“So,” said Nicolai, taking the photo back from me and slipping it carefully back into the wallet before making it disappear inside his jacket again. “I heard about Jack’s wake through the usual unusual channels, so I knew I had to be here. They tell me he died at his work. It’s what he would have wanted.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “He wanted to live forever. He was working on something in that line, but . . .”
“He ran out of time,” said Nicolai. “Yes. It comes to us all, in the end.”
* * *
The evening wore on. Many drinks were drunk, many songs were sung, and a great many toasts were made. Men made passes at women holding glasses. Isabella backed Monkton Farley up against a wall. The general mood became emotional, even wistful, as people looked back on their pasts and found they went back further than they realised. Dead Boy and Waterloo Lillian slow-danced together to an old Frank Sinatra song. The Sea Goat cut in, and Dead Boy stepped politely back. Julien Advent and Catherine