Assassin's Creed: Underworld by Oliver Bowden

Author:Oliver Bowden [Bowden, Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fiction, Media Tie-In, Action & Adventure, Historical
ISBN: 9780698189263
Google: ydLnCQAAQBAJ
Amazon: 042527974X
Publisher: Ace
Published: 2015-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

39

Early the next morning, as was quickly becoming his custom, Abberline was staring at a dead body. Beside him stood Aubrey, and the two constables took off their helmets as a mark of respect. They knew the man who lay sprawled on the street, his face barely recognizable beneath eyes that had swelled shut, a face that was a mixture of purple bruises and open cuts, and a broken jaw that hung at an obscene angle.

It was the bodyguard.

‘Someone wanted to shut him up, obviously,’ said Aubrey.

‘No,’ replied Abberline thoughtfully, staring at the corpse and wondering how many more had to die. ‘I don’t think they were trying to shut him up. I think they were trying to make him talk.’

Across the city, Cavanagh sat behind his desk at the rail works office, Marchant on one side, Hardy on the other.

In front of the desk, sitting on forbidding straight-backed chairs and wearing expressions to match, were the Templar Grand Master Crawford Starrick and Lucy Thorne. As usual, they wanted a report from Cavanagh, the man who had promised to deliver them the artefact but who had so far conspicuously failed to do so, and as usual they wanted that report to include encouraging news.

‘We’re close,’ Cavanagh told them.

Lucy sighed and frowned and rearranged her skirts. Starrick looked distinctly unimpressed. ‘This is what you said last time, and the time before that.’

‘We’re closer,’ added Cavanagh, unperturbed by his Grand Master’s irritation. ‘We have to be. We’re in the immediate vicinity of the artefact’s location.’

There came a knock at the door and Other Hardy showed his face. ‘Sir, sorry to disturb you, but Mr and Mrs Pearson have arrived.’

Starrick rolled his eyes but Cavanagh held out a hand to show it was a matter of no concern. ‘Ill as he is, Pearson prefers the company of the navvies to the hospitality of the office. He’ll have his usual royal tour, don’t worry.’

Other Hardy glanced back out of the door. ‘Seems all right, sir. Like you say, he’s making his way over to the trench.’

‘Even so,’ said Starrick, ‘I believe that concludes our business. Miss Thorne and I shall take our leave. See to it that the next time we visit you have some more encouraging news for me.’

When they had gone Cavanagh looked at Marchant with hooded eyes. ‘He’s a fool; he knows his time is short.’

‘He is the Templar Grand Master, sir,’ said Marchant, and then added with an obsequious smile, ‘for the time being.’

‘Exactly,’ said Cavanagh. ‘For the moment. Until such time as I have the artefact.’

And he allowed himself a smile. The ghost of a smile.

Meanwhile, as Cavanagh, Marchant and co. were occupied with Starrick and Thorne – and with The Ghost yet to begin his shift – Pearson was doing just as Cavanagh said he would, and conducting a small tour of the works, his wife Mary on his arm.

The men loved Pearson, and on this particular occasion had cooked up a plan to show him just how much.

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