“Of course not,” Anouk hurried to say. Well, at least he didn’t confess outright to being a maniac killer. If he was, would he admit it? Maybe not. “It was a joke—a bad one. Believe me, I’m infamous for telling bad jokes. And thank you for your condolences.”
Fabric shifted. Anouk tensed, waiting for something to happen. After a few moments, Nat asked with a concerned voice, “Did any bullets hit you?”
Anouk relaxed an iota. “No, I wouldn’t be this calm if they had. Thanks for asking though. I managed to dodge the line of fire. Which reminds me, do you happen to have a phone with you? Mine is dead.”
“Er… no. Again, I apologise.” He hesitated. “By any chance, did you see which way he went?”
“Yes, he ran towards Uxbridge Road.”
“Can you show me? I mean, after you get your sight back?”
“Sure,” Anouk paused. “Wait a minute. You know him?”
He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, I think you deserve an explanation.” Nat drew a deep breath before continuing. “The man is a dangerous criminal who has escaped from a high-security prison. I’m trying to take him back.”
“Are you a policeman then?”
“Well, not exactly, but I do cooperate with law enforcement—I’m a bounty hunter.”
Anouk whistled. American reality TV shows came to mind. Did he look anything like them? Tattooed, clad all in black, with tacky gold jewellery? She turned in his direction. It was hard to tell, everything was still a bit blurry. “So there’s a bounty on his head?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, right,” she said, rolling her eyes. Did he think she was an idiot? “So you are telling me he dug this very long tunnel from a prison miles away, raising no suspicions, got explosives from somewhere to blow the lid off the sarcophagus, and escaped? With all due respect, that sounds like an awfully complicated prison break. Besides, bounty hunters do not exist in the UK, only on American cable TV.”
“No, he wasn’t in any of the prisons here. By the way, where is here?” Nat turned his head looking around.
“London.” Anouk stared at him, furrowing. “Are you lost or something?”
“London… right.” Nat’s tone was tight. “No, not exactly but… it’s hard to explain.”
“What then?”
He turned to face Anouk. She couldn’t quite see his expression but the pregnant pause spoke for itself; he was gauging her capacity to understand. What the hell was going on?
He took a deep breath. “Stalo, the escapee, broke out of the high-security prison in Anglea, stole a piece of technology—killing its owner—and ended up here through this grave. The energy field generated by the Gadget caused the cover to come off when Stalo entered it.”
Anglea? Gadget? What the…
“Woah, woah, woah.” Anouk lifted her hands. “Sorry, but that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yes, it probably sounds implausible.”
“Yeah, just a little.”
“Hmm… I think I have to tell you the truth, whatever the consequences might be.”
“That would be nice.”
“Right. Stalo and I are from another world, different from yours, based on what I can see from here. The Gadget is an instrument that allows us to travel between worlds. I wonder whether you have similar devices?”
Anouk’s jaw had dropped. Was he taking the piss out of her?
At last the dancing dots gradually faded away, and Anouk was face to face with a man around her age, mid-thirties. Or rather she would be face to face with him if he was not turning it away from her all the time. A mass of brown curls and dark stubble framed his square face. A pair of bright brown eyes stared back at her from underneath the brim of his top hat, but only in short intervals before he resumed scanning the cemetery. Goggles and a red scarf hung around his neck. His brown trench coat was open, revealing a light blue shirt and black vest. A small brass box was attached to the back of his gloved left hand—switches, silver plates, clocks, gauges and brass buttons Anouk couldn’t identify covered its surface.
The tension in her shoulder loosened. This was just a stunt—some silly game. “I didn’t know there was a steampunk convention going on here in London.”
Nat shot his gaze back at her, his eyebrows nearing the brim of his hat. “Excuse me, what convention?”
“A steampunk convention. You are attending it, right?” Anouk asked. “Where is it being held and how many days are left?”
“No, not a steampunk convention…”
“A Gothic convention then? That would explain the grave stunt, though, frankly, jumping out of old graves and vandalising them isn’t Gothic. Well, not mainstream anyway—a bit too macabre.”
“No, this isn’t anything like that.”
“What then? A LARP?”
“Excuse me?” Nat gaped at Anouk.
“A LARP. You know, a live action-role playing game.” Anouk frowned. “If it’s LARPing you and that guy were doing, you have gone a bit too far. Whoever your game masters are, you should sack them. Stunts like disturbing graves and shooting at people will get you behind bars before you know it. And I do hope those bullets were blanks. It’s lucky for your mate that the battery of my phone was flat. I was about to call the police.”
“Er… yes, I’ll have a serious talk with my men. We’ll sack the… game masters.” Nat wore a wary expression on his face.
“Good. I like your costume, by the way. Very steampunk.” Anouk looked Nat up and down. And he was very handsome…
Nat looked down at his clothes, his jaw hanging open. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Anouk.” She smiled and stood. “Okay, I have to get home.”
Nat had risen as well and offered his arm. “Please, allow me to accompany you.”
“No need. I live right outside the cemetery. Thank you for the offer though. You call your friends to lift that cover back on the sarcophagus, and I won’t report it to the police. Deal?”
“Er… yes, it’s a deal, Anouk.” Nat bowed and took Anouk’s right hand before bringing it close to his lips, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Forgive me if I stare, but you have exceptionally mesmerising
