I’ll tell you that.”
Garrick rolled his eyes. “Apparently the verbosity of London cabbies is constant through the ages.” He knocked on the plastic. “I have a new destination for you, driver. Take us to the Wolseley. A friend told me about this café, and I feel it would be just the ticket for our ravenous group. Down Piccadilly, if you please, I do not wish to take the tourists’ route.”
“No worries,” said the cabbie. “I know this city better than the wife knows the inside of my wallet. Strike me dead if I try to cheat you.”
Garrick hid his face as they passed the armed police.
“That is exactly what I shall do,” he said.
By the time the cabbie drew in front of the Wolseley, the restaurant was open for early breakfast. Garrick selected a booth in the window and studied the menu with coos of delight that drew attention from other diners.
“What say you, son? Kedgeree or kippers? Why not both, eh? It is a special occasion, after all.”
Chevie sat by the window, hemmed in between the glass and the magician’s apprentice, hampered by the table.
I need to make a move, she thought. Orange’s last instruction to me was to guard the Timekey. I will not botch another mission. I must get that key back. And I can’t rely on Riley to help me.
All traces of Smart were gone now. The person sitting opposite her was a genuine magician from the past, and as if to prove it, he charmed the waitress, pulling a salt shaker from behind her ear and Felix Smart’s platinum MasterCard from behind his own.
“I believe this is what passes for money these days,” he said, his accent like something from an old black-and-white Sherlock Holmes movie. “Make sure to add a ten percent gratuity for yourself, my dear, pretty as you are.”
The girl was used to big tippers. “I think I’m pretty enough for twenty percent,” she said, not even bothering to smile.
Garrick waved a magnanimous hand. “Why not take thirty?” he said. “We Smarts are a generous breed.”
The waitress pulled a pen from the belt of her apron and took Garrick’s order. The magician selected three kinds of eggs: poached, fried, and scrambled. Kedgeree and kippers. Toast, muffins, and American pancakes with syrup. Sausages, bacon, and potato cakes. Oatmeal and granola. Orange juice, grapefruit juice, and a large pot of coffee. Riley opted for hot chocolate and a full English breakfast, while Chevie asked for a glass of water.
Obviously murder gives a person an appetite, she thought.
“Not hungry, Agent?” Garrick asked her.
Chevie smiled tightly. “I’m feeling a bit off. Must be all the corpses.”
Garrick winked at Riley. “You grow accustomed to that. Look at my partner here, an apprentice no more. He’ll be tucking into his bacon like the hangman’s waiting for him in the square.”
“Yeah,” said Chevie. “Maybe he is. That’s what happens when you kill everyone you meet.”
“I haven’t killed you yet, Miss Savano. Perhaps after breakfast, eh?”
Riley was silent throughout this exchange. He wished only to sleep and perhaps dream of a beach and the red-haired boy.
Beware the undertow—it’ll have yer legs out from under you.
Had the boy really said that, or was his mind inventing a past for himself? Riley shook his head to dislodge the familiar fog that settled over his brain when he was in Garrick’s company. He generally let his mind float away, but today was different. Chevie’s life was at stake as well as his own.
The last thing Riley wanted was a fry-up, but his body was hungry and, as Garrick always said, Eat up, boy. Your next meal will probably be your last.
“You should eat, Chevie.”
Garrick’s hand darted across the table and clipped Riley’s ear. “Chevie? Who are you now, son? The Prince of Wales? Ladies will be referred to by their titles. This is Agent Savano or miss to you.”
Chevie was unimpressed. “Wow, manners. Cool. I had thought you were a murdering psycho, but now you’ve won me over.”
Garrick sighed, weary now of the girl’s comments. “This constant melodrama is so wearing. Isn’t there anything I can do to persuade you to be civil, at least while we are at table?”
Psychology 101: get the subject to talk about himself. Any information learned might come in useful later, if there was a later.
“You could tell me what you are, exactly.”
Garrick seriously considered this. It would be nice to share the details of his transformation; but then again, too much knowledge was too much power, so