night and disassembled the bed, but he had been wary of ambush and had to ensure the price on his head was removed. No need for fretting now.
Garrick almost wished for twenty-first-century surveillance cameras so that he could record what was going to happen next. This was an episode he would like to view critically, to confirm that his presence was as striking as he supposed.
There is always room for improvement in a performance.
Garrick banished such thoughts and allowed a cold, efficient sense of purpose to encase his brain, like the cold steel of a dragoon’s helmet.
I must be the assassin now. Tomorrow my world changes—in fact the entire world may change—but for now, I am performing a job of work. And Albert Garrick always takes pride in his work.
He strode down the corridor, eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom. There was scratching in the shadows that perhaps an amateur would have wasted ammunition on, but Garrick knew the claws of rats when he heard them and held his fire.
Riley moved slowly ahead of him, hampered by steamer trunks and mannequins, hunched over and casting fearful glances toward his mentor.
“She has deserted you, son,” Garrick called after him. “You are alone.”
“You murdered my parents!” Riley said. “I am no son of yours.”
Garrick was about to deny it—after all, how could Riley know what had transpired all those years ago?—when the truth occurred to him: The boy saw it in the wormhole.
“It was a job of work,” he admitted, shooting a wheeled mannequin for fun. “I did what I was hired to do. It was a matter of trust. And did I not save you? Against orders, I might point out.”
“Murderer!” howled Riley, darting through the bedchamber door, into the gloom beyond.
Garrick prudently took up a position beside the doorway, unwilling to follow Riley directly, in case Agent Savano attempted an ambush.
Remember, you have both had the same training. What is standard operating procedure when defending a room with a single entrance?
Chevie would be waiting in a blind spot, aiming whatever weapon she possessed at the doorway.
If she is there at all.
Perhaps Agent Savano was not even in the building. Still, better to lose a few seconds than waste the opportunity to close this sordid chapter of the book.
Garrick summoned his memories of the room. He had passed quite some time here, waiting for Felix Smart to turn up.
A rectangular space with a small alcove in the southern wall, with a dresser and writing desk. Rows of barrel-sized cylinders—crude batteries, I would guess, which Smart was building to power future visits to Victoria. Agent Savano will be in cover behind the desk. Upon my entrance she will have a clear shot at the optimum target zone.
Garrick checked his pistol’s load.
Very well. Albert Garrick will indeed enter as expected.
Chevie knelt behind the writing desk with Barnum’s revolver pointed at the doorway. The instant Riley appeared, she was on her feet with the weapon cocked.
Come on, Garrick, she willed the assassin. Show me that greasy smile.
Garrick talked all the way, cock of the cockney walk.
“We have shared quite the adventure,” he said. “But for me to realize my full potential, I need to be allowed to invest time in myself without constant interference . . .”
This speech surprised Chevie greatly, as she had shot Garrick three times between the first and third syllables of the word adventure. His cloak had twirled to the ground, and the magician keeled over stiffly, yet he continued to speak. And though she had been forewarned that there would be trickery, Chevie left herself exposed for a fraction of a second, which gave the real Garrick the chance to step calmly into the doorway and shoot Chevie square in the chest while still projecting his voice into the wheeled mannequin on the floor.
“. . . constant interference from a juvenile agent who is completely out of her depth.”
Garrick allowed the thought to flash through his mind that perhaps this FBI-style body shot was the most satisfying he had ever fired, in spite of Felix Sharp’s attempts to interfere with his conscience, or perhaps because of that.
I am in control of myself once more.
Chevie was knocked backward by the impact, lifted onto the tips of her toes, and almost somersaulted into a pile of blankets behind her.
Garrick, ever the professional, decided that he would savor the moment fully later, once he was safe in the Orient Theatre. Now was the moment to put the final nail in this coffin.