The Eight Reindeer of the Apocalypse by Tom Holt

Author:Tom Holt [HOLT, TOM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-28T00:00:00+00:00

COMET

“Oh,” said Gina to the staffroom kettle. “You’re still here, then.”

The kettle turned into Tony Bateman. “’Fraid so,” he said.

“I thought Brian fired you.”

“Mr Dawson decided to give me another chance.”

“Did he now.” Gina wrinkled her nose. “Well, we all make catastrophic errors of judgement every so often, and why should Tom Dawson be any different? Just one, thing, though. If I ever catch you doing something like that again, inside the office or out of it, I’ll make you wish you really were a kettle. Got that?”

Tony shuddered. “Loud and clear.”

“Splendid. And from now on, unless explicitly required to be otherwise in the line of duty, just be yourself.” Her frown deepened, just a smidge. “I know. I wouldn’t want to be you, God knows, it must be absolutely ghastly, but somebody’s got to do it, I suppose, and it’s always been standard operating practice in this firm to give the truly rotten jobs to the least valuable members of staff. Now get out of my sight, before I say something hurtful.”

Tony hurried to the door, hesitated, took his life in his hands and turned back. “You knew it was me?”

“What, the kettle? Yes, of course.”

“How?”

Gina sighed. “The power of the inner eye,” she said. “The ability to see past the surface, right down to the sub-atomic level. Also, you were wearing a European plug.”

“Ah.”

“You haven’t gone yet.”

“Sorry,” Tony said, and went. Alone at last, Gina looked round for the real kettle but couldn’t find it. Why could nobody ever leave things where they ought to be?

She knew why. “Harmondsworth,” she said.

At first, nothing happened. Then a drawer in the kitchen unit slid open, and there was the kettle. She took it out and put it on the worktop. “Are you in there?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Well, come out. I want to make a cup of tea.”

“No.”

Interesting. “You’re hiding, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Gina instinctively retreated a long pace. Say what you like about Harmondsworth, and she frequently did, but he was a supremely rational creature. If he could usefully serve his master he did so, regardless of inconvenience, loss of dignity or physical harm. But if he perceived danger and there was nothing he could contribute, he hid. “Harmondsworth,” Gina said, “what’s going on?”

No reply. Frustrating; but when Harmondsworth made his mind up to withdraw, there was very little anybody could do to make him change it. Plugging in the kettle and turning it on wouldn’t help. He’d probably like that. “Is it Ted?” she asked. “Is he in trouble?”

“Yes.”

“Bad trouble?”

“Very, very, very, very bad.”

And instead of rushing to defend his master with tooth, claw and whatever else he happened to have (a field of intense but fruitless speculation among the partners over the years), he was hiding in a kettle. “What sort of bad?”

“Awful.”

“I see. Thank you. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

On the worktop a cup of tea materialised. It was almost certainly single-source Darjeeling, with just the right amount of milk and one no-calories sweetener. She materialised a yellow sticky, wrote on it OUT OF ORDER, stuck it on the kettle and put it away in the drawer.

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