“A sovereign indeed,” Bushell said. “Considering that the King-Emperor will soon be here in Victoria - “
“We have been considering that possibility,” Bragg reminded him. “I’m confident that, given our heightened concern, we shall be able to protect the person of Charles III adequately while he is on American soil.”
“We never have found out how the Sons - or even if the Sons - learned just when His Majesty was coming to Victoria,” Samuel Stanley observed.
Sir Horace spread his hands in manifest regret. “I’ve investigated vigorously, but the Sons are a tight-knit band, and difficult to penetrate. You and Tom - and, I gather, Dr. Flannery - -came up against three in Boston who must have been of high rank. Had any of them survived the encounter - “
“We probably wouldn’t have,” Bushell said. “But yes, that was unfortunate. We did get some leads to Georgestown that may prove profitable, though.” He wished Sir Horace had immediately sent RAMs out to probe the property and affairs of the late Eustace Venable instead of waiting a precious day. Bragg might be - no, no might be about it: he was - a good administrator, but he left something to be desired as a man to head up a field investigation.
Sir David Clarke caught Sir Martin’s eye. “Your Excellency, if I might speak with you for a moment - “
“Certainly,” the governor-general replied. As he rose, he said, “Excuse me,” to the RAMs and Kathleen. Clarke steered him out a side door in whatever chamber lay beyond it. Bragg sighed and looked even more like a kicked basset than usual. “That’s the way it goes here in Victoria,” he said in a low, furious voice. “They pretend to listen for a while, then they go off by themselves and tell us what we’re going to do and how we’re going to do it.”
“I wouldn’t have your job for all the gold in the Bank of England,” Bushell told his friend. “I’ve probably said that once or twice already, haven’t I?”
Before Sir Horace could answer, Clarke and Sir Martin Luther King came back into the Green Room.
“Here is what we have decided,” Sir Martin said. “You will of course continue the search for The Two Georges up to the very moment of the King-Emperor’s arrival. But if a ransom demand reaches us from this time forth, we shall - regretfully - comply with it in every particular, save only that we shall not require you to call off your search while payment is being arranged. In an ideal world, I would not proceed in this fashion. In an ideal world, though, The Two Georges would not have been stolen. Have you any questions, gentlemen? Dr. Flannery?”
No one spoke. Bushell glanced over to Sir David Clarke. The policy the governor-general had laid down was the one Clarke had espoused from the beginning. Was that triumph in Sir David’s eyes or something else, something more serious? For the life of him, Bushell couldn’t tell. Walking into the RAM headquarters for the NAU felt strange to Bushell, as it had every time he’d visited since going out to New Liverpool. The place of course remained familiar in broad outline, but his memory for which corridors led exactly where had faded. Even when his memory of what had been was accurate, it did not always gibe with what was now. Some faces were familiar; some he thought he should have known but could not match up with names; some, like the paint on the walls and the carpet underfoot, were new and strange.
The same sense of dislocation bedeviled Sam Stanley. “I wish they’d have moved to a new building,” he said, staring around. “Then I’d be honestly sure I was lost.”
Before Sir Horace Bragg got close to his offices, a worried-looking young major bearded him: “Sir, we’re having trouble getting the warrants we need to search this Eustace Venable’s home and business establishment. Something went wrong last night, and the friendliest judges got tied up in their morning casework before we got the chance to petition them.”
Bragg clapped a melodramatic hand to his forehead. “Good God, Manchester, more delay?” he groaned. “We can’t afford that.”
“We don’t have to, sir,” Bushell said. He opened his briefcase and drew forth the signed blank search warrants he’d been given in New Liverpool. “Fill out a couple of these and we’ll find out what we need to know.”
Sir Horace stared at the blank warrants with commingled awe and doubt. “You must have a judge out there on the West Coast who’s a lot more than just friendly to us, Tom.” Bushell nodded, pleased to have pulled a rabbit out of his hat right under his friend’s nose. Bragg went on, “I don’t know about trying to use them here, though. If we get challenged - “
“I’ll take the chance, sir,” Major Manchester said eagerly, peeling a couple of warrants off the top of the sheaf Bushell was holding. “The key thing is speed now, that and gathering the evidence. These will give us just the chance we need to do it.” He pumped Bushell’s hand. “Thank you, sir. You’re a lifesaver, that’s what you are.” He hurried down the corridor, waving the warrants and shouting for a typist to insert the relevant information on them.
“He looks promising,” Bushell said. “Give him the ball and he runs with it.”
“That he does.” Bragg still sounded slightly dazed. He gathered himself. “Tom, you and Captain Stanley haven’t got formal wear for tonight’s gathering at the Russian embassy, have you?”
Bushell shook his head. “No, sir. I thought I’d packed clothes for all occasions, but I didn’t figure I’d need a monkey suit.” Stanley nodded agreement to that.
“It’ll have to be dress uniforms for both of you, then,” Bragg said. “Those are always acceptable. Why don’t we go over to Accoutrements and get you fitted out?”
“Is that still Chalky Stimpson’s bailiwick?” Bushell asked in some concern.
“Yes, but there’s no help for it. Come along,” Sir Horace said inexorably.
“Chalky Stimpson?” Kathleen sounded as if she knew a joke was lurking there somewhere, but couldn’t find it.
“He’s our tailor,” Bushell answered. “He’s been the tailor here since the days of William the Conqueror, as best I can tell. He’s - how the devil do I say it politely? Chalky’s thorough, that’s what he is. You’ll need to amuse yourself for a while, because once he gets Sam and me in his clutches, he won’t let us out any time soon.”
“Isn’t that the sad and sorry truth?” Stanley agreed mournfully. “I had hoped to go over to Georgestown myself, but if I’m in Chalky’s web -“ He shook his head. “They’ll have to do without me.”
“And me,” Bushell said. He turned to Sir Horace Bragg. “Can’t we just snatch dress trousers and tunic that come close to fitting off their hangers for tonight? We’d look good enough - “
Sir Horace overrode him: “I’ve been to too many of these formal affairs. ‘Good enough’ isn’t. You don’t measure up at one, you don’t get invited to another. Remember, Tom, embassies are extraterritorial; we can’t make anyone let us in. They have to think we’re interesting, or we stay off their grounds and twiddle our thumbs out on the pavement. We have plenty of people who can investigate the late Mr. Venable. We don’t have plenty who can hobnob with the diplomats.”
“As if anyone ever accused me of being diplomatic.” But Bushell threw his hands in the air in surrender.
“All right - on to Chalky.”
Marcus Aurelius Stimpson - so the sign on his door proclaimed him to be - might not have been in Victoria since 1066, but he probably had been there longer than Bushell had been alive. He was a thin, pale man somewhere between sixty-five and eighty-five - Bushell wondered if anyone knew exactly how old he was. He had been tall; he was now somewhat stooped, but the gray eyes behind bifocals were still keen, and so were his wits, at least in his chosen field of endeavor.