less interesting crimes, of course.”
“Of course,” said Knightley, raising his eyebrows.
“And, well, I soon found I had a little knowledge about a lot of things,” said Darkus.
Knightley studied his son as a scientist studies a newly discovered species, not quite believing his eyes.
Darkus carried on, apparently unaware of the effect he was having. “And to my surprise I found myself detecting things . . . ,” he added. “Seeing the world the way you must have.”
“I don’t want you to see the world the way I do,” said Knightley. “I don’t want that at all.”
Darkus felt his throat tighten with emotion at the idea that all his efforts had somehow had the reverse effect: that he’d pushed his dad farther away instead of bringing the two of them closer. He swallowed hard, then went on.
“Reading it helped me understand . . . why you were the way you were.”
“I know the way I was,” his father responded. “I know I could be hard on you. I was silent, morose, inaccessible. I disappeared upstairs for days at a time.” He paused, losing himself in his own memories for a moment, then added by way of explanation, “The truth is, I loved you and your mother, but I couldn’t allow anything to bias my judgment, to compromise my ability to reason soundly. Emotions have no place in what I do. For better or worse, that was my life. But I never wanted it for you. Never.”
Darkus looked down, sensing his worst fears confirmed: for all his good intentions and long hours of study, he’d simply done something wrong.
Knightley lowered his head into his hands, muttering incoherently and smoothing the hair away from his brows. “The game is afoot,” he said as though it were a mantra. “There’s no time for this.”
“Dad? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Darkus watched him rocking in his seat, looking almost as if he were reentering the state from which he’d so recently emerged. “Dad,” he ventured. “I can help.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You don’t understand. I really can.”
“If you think this is going to be some kind of Take Your Child to Work Day, well, you’re even crazier than I am,” Knightley snipped.
“In the Knowledge you wrote, ‘Reasoning is to construct at least two theories explaining why an event took place,’” stated Darkus, “‘until the most logical explanation presents itself.’”
“And?”
“I can be your second theory. The other half of your brain.”
“Over my dead body. You’re not getting any deeper into this than you already are.” Knightley shook his head. “It’s time to stop this nonsense, retrieve the Knowledge, and get you back home where you belong.”
“That might be a little difficult,” said Darkus, spotting something through the office window on the street below. “They’re taking the car.”
Knightley went to the window to see the Jaguar being lifted off the double yellow line by the mechanical arm of a massive tow truck.
“I see law enforcement has at least improved in some areas,” he remarked.
“What are we going to do now?” said Darkus.
“We’ll use mine.”
Knightley led Darkus out of the front door of number 27 and around the corner onto another terraced street. He had changed into a herringbone coat, corduroy trousers, and a tweed hat uncannily resembling Darkus’s own outfit. Darkus half expected his dad to take his hand, then remembered he was too old for that now.
Knightley approached a break in the sidewalk where a cobbled path led behind the houses. Darkus followed him down the alley toward a row of narrow, dilapidated garages. Knightley produced a key and unlocked the padlock of a garage door daubed with peeling black paint. He discarded the padlock and yanked up the door to reveal a dark yet familiar shape, covered in cobwebs. It was a classic London black cab: a Fairway, to be exact.
“Did you work as a cabbie?” inquired Darkus.
“Nope. But around twenty thousand other
“Of course,” said Knightley, raising his eyebrows.
“And, well, I soon found I had a little knowledge about a lot of things,” said Darkus.
Knightley studied his son as a scientist studies a newly discovered species, not quite believing his eyes.
Darkus carried on, apparently unaware of the effect he was having. “And to my surprise I found myself detecting things . . . ,” he added. “Seeing the world the way you must have.”
“I don’t want you to see the world the way I do,” said Knightley. “I don’t want that at all.”
Darkus felt his throat tighten with emotion at the idea that all his efforts had somehow had the reverse effect: that he’d pushed his dad farther away instead of bringing the two of them closer. He swallowed hard, then went on.
“Reading it helped me understand . . . why you were the way you were.”
“I know the way I was,” his father responded. “I know I could be hard on you. I was silent, morose, inaccessible. I disappeared upstairs for days at a time.” He paused, losing himself in his own memories for a moment, then added by way of explanation, “The truth is, I loved you and your mother, but I couldn’t allow anything to bias my judgment, to compromise my ability to reason soundly. Emotions have no place in what I do. For better or worse, that was my life. But I never wanted it for you. Never.”
Darkus looked down, sensing his worst fears confirmed: for all his good intentions and long hours of study, he’d simply done something wrong.
Knightley lowered his head into his hands, muttering incoherently and smoothing the hair away from his brows. “The game is afoot,” he said as though it were a mantra. “There’s no time for this.”
“Dad? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Darkus watched him rocking in his seat, looking almost as if he were reentering the state from which he’d so recently emerged. “Dad,” he ventured. “I can help.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You don’t understand. I really can.”
“If you think this is going to be some kind of Take Your Child to Work Day, well, you’re even crazier than I am,” Knightley snipped.
“In the Knowledge you wrote, ‘Reasoning is to construct at least two theories explaining why an event took place,’” stated Darkus, “‘until the most logical explanation presents itself.’”
“And?”
“I can be your second theory. The other half of your brain.”
“Over my dead body. You’re not getting any deeper into this than you already are.” Knightley shook his head. “It’s time to stop this nonsense, retrieve the Knowledge, and get you back home where you belong.”
“That might be a little difficult,” said Darkus, spotting something through the office window on the street below. “They’re taking the car.”
Knightley went to the window to see the Jaguar being lifted off the double yellow line by the mechanical arm of a massive tow truck.
“I see law enforcement has at least improved in some areas,” he remarked.
“What are we going to do now?” said Darkus.
“We’ll use mine.”
Knightley led Darkus out of the front door of number 27 and around the corner onto another terraced street. He had changed into a herringbone coat, corduroy trousers, and a tweed hat uncannily resembling Darkus’s own outfit. Darkus half expected his dad to take his hand, then remembered he was too old for that now.
Knightley approached a break in the sidewalk where a cobbled path led behind the houses. Darkus followed him down the alley toward a row of narrow, dilapidated garages. Knightley produced a key and unlocked the padlock of a garage door daubed with peeling black paint. He discarded the padlock and yanked up the door to reveal a dark yet familiar shape, covered in cobwebs. It was a classic London black cab: a Fairway, to be exact.
“Did you work as a cabbie?” inquired Darkus.
“Nope. But around twenty thousand other
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