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Part 6: GETAWAY
The guard’s name was Lionel. Beyond that, he talked very little.
Now that they were out of the public lobby, Wilde found her breaths steadying. Her grandfather seemed to feel the same; he was relaxed and chatting with Lionel about work, the news, everything.
‘It’s madness today, madness!’ he sighed, and Wilde nodded unconsciously as she trailed behind them. ‘I don’t know – the people hear about some minor hiccups with liquidity and they all want to get their money out at once! Ah well, clearer heads shall prevail I’m sure.’
Lionel grunted non-committally before responding with the party line: ‘Medicine Leaf is backed by a consortium of banks, and any minor issue with one will have an insignificant impact on the operating capital of the business as a whole. Your money is safe with us, Professor Vaunt.’ He repeated it as though it had been drilled into him that morning. The problems were recent, and the guards were unimaginative.
The vault was a plain room with a heavy door, which was nonetheless well-balanced; it swung back with barely a whisper to reveal the rows upon rows of safety deposit boxes, set behind a wall of polished metal bars. There was a door set into the bars to allow access to the owners of the boxes. Between the barred wall and the vault door was a desk, at which sat another guard. Beside the desk was a keyhole.
‘Terpsichore Vaunt,’ Lionel said to the other guard, ‘here for box 193.’
The other guard nodded. Lionel walked the two of them to barred door and unlocked it.
‘Are you sure you’re okay with your granddaughter in there, sir?’ he asked. ‘Only I’ve got to lock it after you, and she looks a little nervous.’ The professor smiled, all sweetness.
‘Thank you for your service thus far, Lionel; I take my granddaughter’s safety as my top priority, and I would rather she were with me than anywhere else. I can assure you she’ll be absolutely fine.’ Nonetheless, Lionel glanced over at Wilde. She fixed him with a stare – people commented that she seemed to look very intensely at others – and nodded.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Just got nervous in the crowd.’
‘She’s not a people-person, Lionel,’ Professor Vaunt said, ‘unlike me. Are we ready? I have my key here.’ He fished a long-handled golden key from his pocket, attached to his waistcoat via a chain. Lionel inspected it, noting the identifying marks which professed it to be the key to box 193, and then turned to the vault guard and flashed a thumbs-up. He pulled the door open and gestured for the professor and Wilde to enter.
‘Ready when you are, Professor,’ Lionel said as he turned the key. There was a heavy click as the door locked – they were trapped in here now, until the professor had what he needed.
‘You okay girl?’ he muttered as they walked to the correct column of boxes. Wilde nodded.
‘Fine,’ she said levelly. The Professor paused to glance at her face; unreadable. He shook his head.
‘If you say so.’ Wilde’s brow creased.
‘I’m fine, professor,’ she said again. ‘There’s not so many people in here.’
‘Alright. Quiet girl, I need to be ready for this bit.’ He located the box and slid in his key, then turned to Lionel, who was standing by the keyhole at the guard’s desk. ‘Ready!’ he called. Lionel nodded, and both turned the keys.
There was a mechanical sound, and after a moment, a clunk as the box clicked open. The professor slid it out and opened it up; a plain green duffel bag was in there. He pulled it out, and slid the box back in.
‘Locking!’ he called, turning the key as he dropped the bag down. Then, quieter, ‘Open the bag, girl. There’s a puzzle in there for you.’
Wilde needed little prompting. She knelt down and unzipped the bag – a plain brown oilcloth was hiding something inside. She took it out and unrolled it, hands fluttering as she opened it up to reveal a clutter of buffed metal and rich jungle wood – all parts to make something, but what it was could only be guessed at.
‘Here.’ She barely looked around as the professor slipped something from his sleeve down to her shoulder. ‘Should be the last part.’
The professor took the key and turned away, leaving Wilde to put things in place; some sort of trigger mechanism – that was the starting point, she decided. She found a wooden stock with a slot that fitted, and an opening further down, and fitted that with a neat click.
Something was happening at the guard’s desk. There was a buzz, and the sound of printing. The professor was jovial as he said, ‘it all looks to be in order – I commend you, Lionel, for your dedication to duty!’
Both guards were looking at a page which had been faxed through. The professor licked his lips and tried to stop his foot from tapping impatiently. Wilde put together the fiddly feed mechanism and fitted into the stock.
‘Be just a minute,’ he said. ‘Making sure it all goes together as it should. What’s your name, lad?’ He addressed this to the other guard, whose eyes were widening as he met the professor’s gaze. Wilde slid on a scope of delicately-crafted glass and slid the bolt home.
‘You okay, lad?’ the professor asked. ‘You look like you’ve had a turn.’ He was in front of the door now, and risked a glance back; Wilde had the final piece in her hand, and was sliding it into the design. A metal box with a spring assembly. She got to her feet slowly, holding the item.
‘Any chance you can unlock this door for us, Lionel?’ the professor asked. ‘I think we’re about ready.’
Lionel shook his head slowly. He took the paper from his colleague and reached down to his belt.
‘You shouldn’t have come here, professor,’ he said darkly, turning the page to face the professor.
It was a wanted poster for Terpsichore Vaunt.
‘Grandfather?’
Lionel froze. So did the other guard, gripping the desk until his knuckles whitened. Professor Vaunt didn’t turn around as he said, ‘Not now, girl.’
‘But grandfather, I’m not sure what I’ve put together!’
The professor turned. Wilde was holding a long, heavy-looking rifle in her hands. Her hand found a natural resting place on the handle, and her finger was resting gently against the trigger. The barrel was pointing squarely at Lionel.
‘Thank you Wilde,’ the professor said quietly. ‘Let’s perhaps keep our finger off the trigger, okay? At least until we need to. Now once we’re out of here I’ll take it, but until then, can you wrap it up in that cloth? There’s a good girl.’ Wilde bent to her task, and heard the professor as the conversation continued: ‘I don’t aim to hurt anyone in here, Lionel. And I’m getting out, one way or the other – I’m only taking what’s mine, and my only aim is to protect my family.’
‘You’re a wanted man, Professor,’ Lionel responded. ‘I’m duty-bound to hold you here until the Umbrella Men-’
‘They’re right outside! Go and get them – I’ll be happy to wait.’
‘That’s not how this works, Professor.’
Wilde carefully wrapped the rifle in the oilcloth – it draped over the shape and gave it a ghostly look, like some sort of emaciated animal. She pulled it tight, feeling uncomfortable about this whole situation, zipped as much of it as would fit into the duffel bah so she could carry it with the handles. She stood and returned to the professor’s side, softly sliding her hand into his. He squeezed it and gave her a quick nod.
‘You can’t keep me in here, Lionel,’ he said. ‘We’re getting out. And the fact that you and your friend are still here talking to me tells me you both have an idea of what this is about, so how about you unlock the door so we can leave?’
There was silence as both guards stared at the professor – Lionel glowering, the other guard terrified.
Lionel did not take his eyes off the professor as he said, ‘Frank, hit the alarm.’
Frank, startled out of whatever reverie had so stunned him, fumbled blindly beneath the desk for the panic alarm. The professor knelt before the lock and took something from his pocket. Wilde’s grasp slipped from his as he said, ‘sorry, girl – I need two hands for this work!’
A klaxon started blaring as Frank’s questing hands found the button, and less than a second later the lock clicked open in the professor’s hands. He grabbed Wilde’s wrist and pulled her along behind him. In one movement he barged open the door and reached into his pocket as Lionel moved to intercept – as the guard made to grab him the professor stunned him with an uppercut, something black and heavy in his hands. Wilde gasped, but she was dragged unheeded in his wake before she could see if Lionel was still conscious.
Outside the vault people were hurrying their way – more guards. Wilde tightened her grip on the bag, but the professor waved them past.
‘Come quick!’ he shouted. ‘It’s Lionel, he just collapsed! Might be a heart attack!’
The guards breezed past with barely a look – after all, he was a valued customer.
‘We’ve got to move fast!’ the professor said, still seemingly calm despite the sudden chaos. ‘If we can get to the docks, we can catch the next flight out. There’s money enough in that bag for a berth for both of us.’
‘But grandfather-’
‘I’ve told you not to call me that!’ he snapped, and Wilde suddenly saw the toll this was taking. He sighed and took some deep breaths, looking around nervously; they were nearing the public area, it wouldn’t do to make a scene.
‘I’m sorry Wilde,’ he said, softer, taking her by the shoulders. ‘This has all gone badly wrong, and we need to get somewhere safe. Until we’re safely on a ship, I can’t be the kindly grandfather you knew – I’m the professor until then, and that means I’m going to be stern and I need you to work hard, understand?’
Wilde trembled, but she nodded. Something had gone wrong, and until they were safe she would be browbeaten and harried and hurried along. She hated it, but it had to happen.
‘Give me the bag,’ the professor said. ‘There’s a good girl. Here – the coin a promised you.’ The dead weight of the rifle was removed from her hand, and pressed into her palm was a disc of cold metal – she looked at the shiny gold, feeling the intricate carvings of the design. It was unlike any coin she’d seen before – she pocketed it quickly.
‘What next?’ she whispered. The professor started walking again, and she followed along practically perched on his shoulder.
‘Well if we’re lucky we can open one of the windows in the VIP area and slip out before any more guards turn up. Otherwise-’
They reached the VIP area. It was almost empty, the patrons having been ushered out by guards and bank staff. But coming through the doors against the flow were three Umbrella Men. The leading one spotted the professor and pointed.
‘Over there!’
‘Damn!’ The professor slung the bag over his shoulder and unzipped it, bracing the rifle awkwardly as he slid the cloth off the stock and trigger mechanism. ‘Stay behind me, Wilde,’ he warned.
The Umbrella Men brushed aside the last few stragglers and took up positions in front of the door. Wilde noted the unusual shape of the umbrellas – their handles widened towards the bottom, almost like the stock of the rifle, and there was a metal ring for-
The professor slid back the bolt on the rifle. The lead Umbrella Man unfurled his umbrella, holding the stock against his shoulder.
‘Surrender,’ he ordered levelly.
The professor’s rifle answered for him.
There was a sound like booming thunder, and the Umbrella exploded into tatters. The Umbrella man was knocked backwards – more than that, Wilde thought, as the blood sprayed over the marble floor and the two Umbrella Men behind – and lay unmoving on the floor.
The professor did not even stop to reload. As the Umbrella Men cringed back from the sound and the blood he was running past, heading for the windows.
‘Cover your eyes!’ he yelled, and leapt forward.
Wilde screamed. There was the sound of smashing glass, and an instant of darkness and pain, then a heavy thud as she landed on the ground. Then the professor was pulling her and saying ‘Well done, well done!’ and they were still going. She lowered her arms – there were pinpricks of pain across her arms and shoulders, but her knee was sharp and angry and she was limping, and she’d landed heavily on her right shoulder.
‘You’re okay, we’re past the worst of it!’ the professor soothed her. ‘They’ll lose us in the crowd and we’ll be on a ship before you know it!’
‘Professor, you-’ Wilde began, but it was too much to contemplate.
‘Yes I did,’ he said. ‘I had to, or they would’ve killed me. You didn’t see it, did you?’
Wilde shook her head. She hadn’t, technically, seen the body. But the sight of the Umbrella Man, vaulting backwards and looking for all the world like he was headless, would stay with her for some nights to come.
‘We’re nearly there, girl,’ the professor said. ‘We’ll be on a ship before you know it.’
Gore didn’t go to the bank, even when he heard the alarm. He continued towards the nearest docks, undeterred.
The docks of Medicine Leaf were a maze of platforms, airships landing to drop off supplies or to load merchandise for drugstores the world over, but there were always smugglers, even here in civilised territory. Umbrella Men always stuck out, but a sensible smuggler would do their best not to draw his attention. He ignored the obvious drug-running ships for now – they were a problem for another day.
Docks were always busy, and with the bank run had come strikes. Here the dock workers were picketing, demanding better working conditions and higher pay – some far-flung administrator’s death had brought his charitable gifting of a Spear to the local community to the public eye again, and the workers wanted light of their own to work by. Currently Medicine Leaf was responding to this by halting all deliveries of light rods to the town.
Busy, volatile, and dark. To Gore, the timing could not be intentional.
Movement caught his eye; two more Umbrella Men, positioned near an entrance. But the professor would not come in that way. Gore waited in the shadows, his eyes growing accustomed to the gloom even behind his glasses.
More movement. A ferry, disgorging passengers from a few towns over – they were here to work for a few days, until the strike blew over or the Umbrella Men were called to break it up. The flow of traffic was firmly outgoing for a few minutes as they pushed their way towards the main streets, and Gore was most watchful at this time.
Three more agents entered, two spattered with blood. He recognised them as detachments from the bank – that meant the professor was here. He scanned the area, straining against the cacophony of chatter and protest.
There. Heading past him, weaving through the crowd. The professor’s wispy white hair was barely visible, but he had a girl in tow – reports hadn’t mentioned an accomplice. He moved to intercept.
The crowd was thinning, but they were nearing a group of protesters. They wouldn’t be happy to see Gore – he skirted the area, watching them. It was no good – the protesters were covering this whole area. He’d have to push through them.
‘Free light is our right!’ The chant was reaching over the noise of the crowd, it was like a wall of sound. Even walls had not been known to stop Umbrella Men. Gore approached a burly looking dock worker.
‘Stand aside citizen,’ he ordered. ‘I am pursuing a criminal.’
‘Back off, pig!’ the dock worker snarled. ‘We know our rights, we’re allowed to be here!’
‘You’re in my way. My quarrel is not with you.’
‘Well I’m quarrelling with you!’ The dock worker made to shove Gore.
He twisted. His umbrella moved, and suddenly the man was on the floor. Gore looked around frantically, pushing through the protest before the picketers could digest what they had seen and react with violence. He looked around frantically, trying to spot the professor, but there were no lines of sight and even on the other side of the protesters the press of scab workers and tourists was thick. He sighed and stopped. He’d lost-
There! He spotted the girl again, and then the professor’s retreating back! They were making their way up the docks, towards a smuggling ship.
Gore pushed his way through the crowd. People instinctively shied away from an Umbrella Man, which gave him an advantage; he was closing in on them.
He might’ve got them, had Wilde not turned around.
She yelled out a warning. The professor pivoted, pushing her behind him, and trained the rifle on Gore. Gore knelt and opened his umbrella.
A series of reports echoed around the docks. Someone on the ship pointed – on the next bay over, the three Umbrella Men stood, guns smoking. Gore stared at them and turned back to the professor; he was on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Wilde knelt beside him, tears staining her cheeks as she pulled at his shoulders. He was shaking his head, murmuring something to her. The Umbrella Men moved around to regroup with Gore.
Something caught his eye. One of the smugglers had run down the gangplank and was drawing a gun.
‘Cast off!’ he ordered, aiming at Gore. The airship began moving, the gangplank falling into the trees below.
Gore strode forwards. The smuggler fired a burst and his aim was good, but the gun was not. One bullet found its mark, but bounced harmlessly off the umbrella as Gore placed himself between Wilde and the man. He shouldered the stock, aimed, and fired. The umbrella sighed as a bullet launched at the man and struck his face – he rocked backwards and fell.
People were screaming and running in all directions. Gore stowed the umbrella and approached the man at a trot, kicking away his gun. It tumbled into the jungle hundreds of metres below.
‘By dose! Hyou broke by dose!’
‘I did,’ Gore said. ‘And if you’d killed the girl, I’d have done worse. Stay down.’ He turned, looking for the girl. The three Umbrella Men, the survivors of the bank, approached.
‘Detain, do not kill!’ Gore yelled. ‘That’s what I said!’ He looked around. ‘Where’s the girl?’
They looked around. Gore spied her – there were no more ships over here, she had the duffel bag slung over her shoulder and was running towards the end of the dock.
‘Dead end.’ He shoved the three agents. ‘Rubber bullets only! We take her alive.’
‘She has a rifle,’ one of them said. Blood still spotted his overcoat from top to bottom. ‘It can cut through our weapons.’
‘Then I suggest you don’t get shot,’ Gore snarled. He turned and marched towards Wilde.
Wilde, who had skidded to a halt at the edge of the dock. The jungle swirled darkly, winds whipping up the trees. It would rain soon, a cold rain, not the type the jungle liked. She stared out again, hoping to see a glimpse of the silhouette she thought she’d seen.
‘End of the road, ma’am!’ She turned. Gore approached, umbrella furled. At his side – he didn’t look to be getting it out in a hurry.
‘You can come with us,’ he said. ‘We need to ask you some questions about the man you were with.’
She took a half-step back, feeling the lack of solid ground beneath her heel. Gore let his umbrella drop to the floor and kicked it away.
‘I’m sorry about the professor,’ Gore continued, taking a step closer. He lowered himself down. ‘I wanted to talk to him. He shouldn’t have died.’
He shouldn’t have left me alone, thought Wilde. She hugged the rifle to her chest like a protective talisman. In the distance, lightning struck – she turned, her eyes piercing the night as she sought escape. Gore took the opportunity to take two large steps closer.
‘No weapons,’ he said. ‘I only want to talk. Come with me, we’ll take you somewhere safe.
She tensed, putting all of her weight onto her toes as she slid her other heel out over the nothingness. Gore reached out an imploring hand.
‘You’re past the worst of it,’ Gore said. ‘I just need you to take my-’ He leapt to snatch at her, and she jumped backwards, twisting as she did to face the uprushing jungle canopy.
‘Damn!’ Gore cursed as she disappeared below into the tree cover. He raised his fists in frustration as the other Umbrella Men rushed to his side, as if in fear that he would throw himself after her.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Grab that smuggler, we’ll see if he knows anything about those two. And bring the professor’s body to the lab for autopsy. Let’s clear out of here, we’ve caused enough trouble for one day – and someone find out who that girl was!’