Engines of Empathy (Drakeforth Series Book 1) by Paul Mannering

Author:Paul Mannering [Mannering, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paper Road Press
Published: 2014-05-11T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

We rolled up the street with the headlights off and stopped the car opposite my front gate. Peering over the driver’s door sill we watched my house for a full minute. It didn’t move.

‘Seems quiet,’ I ventured, becoming aware of Drakeforth’s body pressing against my arm.

‘I think that is just the neighbourhood. I’ll bet the most exciting thing to happen in these parts is the weekly garbage collection.’

I opened my mouth to scoff and then remembered that old Mrs Alpine in number 12 liked to sit in her front room, doing her knitting and watching the garbage trucks emptying the bins every Wednesday.

‘Some people like the quiet,’ I said instead.

‘Some people live their entire lives without ever questioning anything. We, my dear Pudding, are not those kinds of people.’

‘Certainly not,’ I agreed.

‘So, do you want to go first?’

‘Certainly not,’ I said again.

Drakeforth sighed and slipped out of the car. I wondered if I should wait, engine running, ready to tear off through the late evening traffic at a moment’s notice if the police, or Godden’s agents, or the acerbic Anna Coluthon should prove to be lurking in the shadows of my airing cupboard.

Drakeforth knocked on my window. ‘Are you coming or what?’

We crept into the house through a brand new front door. The idea of someone restoring the illusion of normalcy after the police had kicked it in chilled me to the core.

Inside I sniffed the air; the usual comforting and familiar scents of home underlaid with the remnant odours of acetylene gas, pipe smoke and vigorous cleaning.

‘Can you open the vault?’ Drakeforth whispered.

‘Of course I can. Shouldn’t we check that no one is here first?’

‘If you like. You unlock, I’ll search.’

I turned on the hall light and peered into the retinal scanning lock of the broom cupboard. It beeped and I spun the big wheel open. Several perfectly balanced tonnes of hardened steel and titanium swung out on silent hinges.

My home office was an oasis of calm silence, the desk waiting for me inside as it always had. I wanted to crawl into it and pull the roller top down over me. Drakeforth hadn’t returned. I went looking for him.

The kitchen was as we had left it, a cold pot of tea and two empty cups, the chocolate biscuits on the plate going softly stale.

‘Drakeforth?’ I asked quietly. No response.

I opened the fridge, a reflex distraction brought on by the confusing anxiety of recent events. The fridge didn’t say anything. I stared into its cool white interior. ‘Oh no! Drakeforth!’ I shouted.

Slamming the fridge shut, I ran out of the kitchen and up the hall stairs. I reached the top landing and the doors to my bedroom, the bathroom, and the two other bedrooms that waited for the serendipitous arrival of guests since I moved in. Drakeforth lay face-down on the carpet, half out of the bathroom doorway.

‘Drakeforth!’ I dropped to my knees and turned him over; he groaned, his eyelids fluttering.

‘Logout,’ he mumbled.

A dark shape detached itself from the shadows and I heard a metallic click.

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