Pirate King: A novel of suspense featuring Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes

“Then I won’t tell that you went away tonight.”

I put out my hand, and we shook on it.

“Now, you must go back to bed,” I told her. “And make sure you don’t go dropping large hints to the others tomorrow about adventures you’re going on. If they find out, I won’t be able to take you.”

“You have to come to bed, too!”

“I need to have a word with Annie.”

“But-”

“Go.”

Drooping and dragging her slippers, Edith slumped across the rooftop and through the door. I waited; eventually, it clicked all the way shut.

Annie, too, had stood waiting, and now she chuckled, and dribbled a bit of wax onto the bench to attach the candle upright. She settled herself across one end of it, and I straddled the other, wondering what I was going to have to promise this older foe.

“Don’t tell me you want to dress up as a boy and walk through the bazaar at night, too?” I asked her.

“You’re not as bright as I thought you’d be.”

“I beg your pardon?” My husband had back-handedly referred to my lack of beauty; now an actress was questioning my brains?

“I figured you’d have this all sorted in nothing flat, and we could all go home, waving the flag and cocking a snook at His Majesty’s enemies.”

“I-” I stopped. Oh Lord. She was right, I was being exceedingly stupid. “You’re Mycroft’s operative.”

She made the gesture of smacking her forehead, and gave me a grin that made her look both younger and more competent. “One of them.”

“Bert?”

“At least you caught that. Or should I feel proud, that I’m better than he?”

She was right: I was every bit as guilty as the others, overlooking this person because she was a woman – a very pretty woman. Still …

“How do you know who I am?”

“I recognised your husband. And I had heard about you, so when the two of you appeared, well, I figured you were on the same track as I.”

“Perhaps you should explain why you are here?”

“I’ve been working on this case for six months, so that-”

“Which case is that?”

“What do you mean, which case? La Rocha and his brother, of course. What other case is there?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“So you’re not here because Mycroft sent you?”

“Just at the moment, I don’t know that I would cross the street for Mycroft. No, I’m doing a favour for a Scotland Yard friend.”

“Extraordinary.”

“Extraordinary doesn’t begin to describe it. But you were telling me why you were here.”

It was a typical Mycroft assignment – if any of Mycroft’s assignments could be called “typical.” In early summer, Annie had been told to look into the activities of La Rocha and the man I knew as Samuel, with no suggestion as to how she might go about doing that. Taking up residence in Lisbon, she had spent several months in disguise, doing what amounted to keeping her ears open. Then a few weeks ago, a rumour circulated through the Lisbon hills that Fflytte Films was coming to do a film about – aha! – pirates.

She made enquiries and discovered the name of Fflytte’s local liaison: Senhor Fernando Pessoa, the man of many personalities, who clearly had played an appropriately diverse number of roles in this unscripted little drama of ours. Annie arranged to fall into casual conversation with the translator one evening at his favourite drinking establishment, loosened him up with poetry and port, and steered him towards the topic of pirates, and Pirates. Once she understood the set-up (The Pirates of Penzance; filming on location; casting in London and in Lisbon), she took care to remind her new friend of a bit of local colour that might interest his English clients: Captain La Rocha.

With Pessoa hooked, she booked passage to London, flung off her false spectacles, bohemian clothing, and black wig, and got there in time to try out for a role in the picture.

Although she admitted to me that she was not much of an actress, she got the part (of course she got it, with her perfect skin, snub nose, and big blue eyes – had Bibi been at the casting things might have gone differently, open competition not being a welcome sport among actresses). Once back in Lisbon, she took care to keep away from Pessoa, and no one recognised the sweet-faced English blonde as the town’s dowdy but competent part-time type-writer.

“I assume Bert came about his part in the same way?”

“I think he bought off one of the constables who’d already been hired, and took his place.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” I remarked, but shook my head at her look of enquiry. She went on.

“I was surprised to see him-‘Bert’-on the steamer in Southampton; the last I heard he was in Ankara. But you – if you’re not after La Rocha, why are you here?”

I could see no reason not to tell her. “I’m looking into Fflytte Films. Everywhere they film, they’re followed around by criminal behaviour. They make a film about guns, and no sooner do they move on than a dozen revolvers go onto the market. A film about cocaine, and the drug is suddenly available. A movie about rum-running, and the world’s most famous rum-runner is arrested.”

“And after Hannibal, were there elephants all over-”

“Please, I didn’t say I believed any of it. But I have to agree, the disappearance of Hale’s assistant requires looking into.”

Annie looked at me sharply, so I gave her what I knew.

When I was finished, she shook her head. “I’d be happier if they’d found a suicide note.”

“Wouldn’t we all? What’s also troubling is the suggestion that Geoffrey Hale makes a habit of seducing his employees. We believe that Anne Hatley – the child playing June – is his. Myrna Hatley is a robust personality, but if this assistant was a more fragile type, or more vulnerable …”

“If she was pregnant, she might have seen suicide as the only escape. On the other hand, if she chose to assert her rights and make a fuss …”

I admired the way this woman’s mind worked. “Then Hale might have decided to remove a problem. Either way, he was involved. As now he may be involved with the current situation. Last night, he spent some time in private conversation with La Rocha and Samuel, and afterwards was given leave to impart the message that the men would be permitted a degree more freedom tomorrow – today, rather – if they spent a quiet morning.”

“Internal tensions in the film world?”

“Of course, I’ve also had my suspicions of Will-the-Camera. And of you, for that matter.”

“An embarrassment of riches when it comes to shady types.”

“Speaking of shady types, what of our pirates? Holmes and I are operating under the assumption that we’re to be put up for ransom. You’ve been investigating La Rocha for months, do you have any idea what he’s up to?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m not altogether certain that La Rocha’s the centre of this.”

“Samuel?”

“As you know him, yes.”

“He’s both more intelligent and more cold-blooded than La Rocha, a dangerous combination.” I thought of the first time I’d seen Selim, standing behind La Rocha: the power behind the throne?

“And his sons?”

“Adam and Jack,” I replied: This was beginning to feel a bit like one of Holmes’ examinations.

“I don’t think that Adam altogether approves of his father’s … work.”

The wistfulness in her voice did not sound like the judgment of an experienced espionage agent. It sounded