began.
Lazarus glanced from his shoulder to me and said, "If I didn't want to talk about it when we could tolerate each other's company, you'll understand my reluctance to speak of it now."
"Fine. Open that blasted door, and I'll never mention it again."
"Sit down, Adler."
I sat, but not because he'd told me to. It was getting stuffy in there. Unlike pacing, sitting wouldn't waste precious oxygen.
"I have to know what Goddard has told you about the porcelain dog," he said.
"What has St. Andrews told you?"
"Nothing." He nudged aside a stack of bedpans with his elbow and leaned against the counter. "Nothing, aside from the fact that whatever is inside it will stop the blackmailer cold." He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Adler, St. Andrews couldn't carry out a case if it had a handle on it. I do most of the work, if you couldn't guess. Even then, his little investigations usually come to nothing. But this time, there's an actual crime with actual consequences--consequences that will affect me, as well. And he's keeping me in the dark."
I let out a long breath. Goddard had put my bollocks in the same vise. Only I was used to being in the dark. It was safer that way for Goddard, and for me. On the other hand, none of the other little errands I'd run for Goddard had entailed losing my happy home as a consequence of failure.
"Well," said Lazarus. "Since we're both in the same unenviable situation, wouldn't it make sense to pool our efforts, and--"
"You want to work together?" Goddard's admonishment echoed in my mind. "Absurd."
"Why not?" Lazarus asked, annoyed. "We both want to stop the blackmailer. In wartime, a man often finds himself entrusting his life to someone to whom he'd not deign to--must you chortle so, Adler? To whom he'd not speak two words back on the streets of London. You do trust me, don't you?"
I stopped laughing. Really, it was like asking whether one trusted a St. Bernard. With a cask of brandy. In a snowstorm. Lazarus was an annoyance of the highest order, but he was as reliable as rain. All the same, until one of us found the dog, the point was moot.
"It doesn't matter if I trust you," I said. "I don't have the damned thing anymore."
"What?"
I tugged at my collar. That window was definitely starting to fog over.
"Ask Pearl, if you really must know. Will you please open the door now?"
Lazarus steepled his fingers beneath his chin. He'd no doubt spent the morning mapping out counter-arguments for any objections I might have had to our working together. But clearly he hadn't anticipated my losing the damned statue.
The air was getting thick and the ceiling had definitely gotten lower. I had to get out of there.
"Why are you being so petulant? We'll find the dog, then figure out what it means. It's clearly the most efficient use of our resources. What do you say?" He extended his hand. "Battlefield comrades?"
Lazarus had a workman's hands. They were square and sturdy, though the tapered fingers betrayed an artist's soul. The skin was smooth and pink, the nails clean. The memory of his touch sent a faint shiver through me even two years later. But he was asking me to do something that would send Goddard through the roof, while holding me prisoner in a room no bigger than a rich man's coffin. He had to be out of his sodding mind.
"No," I said.
"No?"
"It's...its impossible. And unethical. Definitely. Now let me out."
"Unethical?" he asked with a bemused smile.
"Let me out. Tim, I'm begging you."
I saw spots. I screwed my eyes shut--which only made my pulse pound louder in my ears. I tried to breathe deeply, but couldn't get more than a few short gasps. Oh God. Oh God.
"Ira?" he asked.
I cocked one eye open, more than a little gratified to see from his guilty expression that he knew he'd taken his little joke too far. And yet he hadn't reached for the key.
We both jumped at the thud of Nurse Brand's fist against the dispensary door.
"Mr. Adler?" she called.
Muttering to himself, Lazarus
Lazarus glanced from his shoulder to me and said, "If I didn't want to talk about it when we could tolerate each other's company, you'll understand my reluctance to speak of it now."
"Fine. Open that blasted door, and I'll never mention it again."
"Sit down, Adler."
I sat, but not because he'd told me to. It was getting stuffy in there. Unlike pacing, sitting wouldn't waste precious oxygen.
"I have to know what Goddard has told you about the porcelain dog," he said.
"What has St. Andrews told you?"
"Nothing." He nudged aside a stack of bedpans with his elbow and leaned against the counter. "Nothing, aside from the fact that whatever is inside it will stop the blackmailer cold." He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Adler, St. Andrews couldn't carry out a case if it had a handle on it. I do most of the work, if you couldn't guess. Even then, his little investigations usually come to nothing. But this time, there's an actual crime with actual consequences--consequences that will affect me, as well. And he's keeping me in the dark."
I let out a long breath. Goddard had put my bollocks in the same vise. Only I was used to being in the dark. It was safer that way for Goddard, and for me. On the other hand, none of the other little errands I'd run for Goddard had entailed losing my happy home as a consequence of failure.
"Well," said Lazarus. "Since we're both in the same unenviable situation, wouldn't it make sense to pool our efforts, and--"
"You want to work together?" Goddard's admonishment echoed in my mind. "Absurd."
"Why not?" Lazarus asked, annoyed. "We both want to stop the blackmailer. In wartime, a man often finds himself entrusting his life to someone to whom he'd not deign to--must you chortle so, Adler? To whom he'd not speak two words back on the streets of London. You do trust me, don't you?"
I stopped laughing. Really, it was like asking whether one trusted a St. Bernard. With a cask of brandy. In a snowstorm. Lazarus was an annoyance of the highest order, but he was as reliable as rain. All the same, until one of us found the dog, the point was moot.
"It doesn't matter if I trust you," I said. "I don't have the damned thing anymore."
"What?"
I tugged at my collar. That window was definitely starting to fog over.
"Ask Pearl, if you really must know. Will you please open the door now?"
Lazarus steepled his fingers beneath his chin. He'd no doubt spent the morning mapping out counter-arguments for any objections I might have had to our working together. But clearly he hadn't anticipated my losing the damned statue.
The air was getting thick and the ceiling had definitely gotten lower. I had to get out of there.
"Why are you being so petulant? We'll find the dog, then figure out what it means. It's clearly the most efficient use of our resources. What do you say?" He extended his hand. "Battlefield comrades?"
Lazarus had a workman's hands. They were square and sturdy, though the tapered fingers betrayed an artist's soul. The skin was smooth and pink, the nails clean. The memory of his touch sent a faint shiver through me even two years later. But he was asking me to do something that would send Goddard through the roof, while holding me prisoner in a room no bigger than a rich man's coffin. He had to be out of his sodding mind.
"No," I said.
"No?"
"It's...its impossible. And unethical. Definitely. Now let me out."
"Unethical?" he asked with a bemused smile.
"Let me out. Tim, I'm begging you."
I saw spots. I screwed my eyes shut--which only made my pulse pound louder in my ears. I tried to breathe deeply, but couldn't get more than a few short gasps. Oh God. Oh God.
"Ira?" he asked.
I cocked one eye open, more than a little gratified to see from his guilty expression that he knew he'd taken his little joke too far. And yet he hadn't reached for the key.
We both jumped at the thud of Nurse Brand's fist against the dispensary door.
"Mr. Adler?" she called.
Muttering to himself, Lazarus
Similar Books
