“Mm,” Vale said, apparently satisfied. “A sharing of information could be quite useful. But on the other hand, as Miss Winters has said, we could be looking into entirely different matters. I believe we have come to the point where we decide whether to trust one another.”
“So it seems,” Kai said, making a recovery. “Some more wine?”
“Thank you,” Vale said, extending his glass to be filled. There was silence for a few minutes. Irene turned over various strategies in her mind. Unfortunately, most of them involved Vale briefly leaving the table so that she could talk urgently with Kai, and this seemed unlikely to happen. She was simultaneously impressed by the man’s skills of observation and significantly worried by them. This sort of intellect was splendid in fictional characters, but in practice it risked making their task a great deal more awkward.
Fortunately, the situation was interrupted by screams and loud grinding noises from the street. Diners dropped their knives and forks to turn towards the doorway. A couple of men leapt to their feet, wineglasses still in their hands.
Kai managed an infinitesimal blink at Irene, then turned to Vale. “Do you think we should investigate, sir?”
“Of course!” Vale exclaimed, rising. He picked up his sword-stick, balancing it casually in his left hand. “Madam, kindly stay here. Mr. Strongrock, if you would accompany me—” He strode towards the door.
“What do I do?” Kai muttered to Irene.
“Stay with him,” Irene whispered. “I’ll hold back. Find out what’s going on. Be careful, he’s a detective.”
“I’d worked that bit out,” Kai muttered. But he displayed a wild enthusiasm as he raced after Vale, an eagerness for action.
Irene glanced around as the two men hurried off. Nobody creeping out of the shadows to try to abduct her while their attention was elsewhere. Good. She picked up her bag and walked after them.
The restaurant’s reception area had large glass windows, which provided a convenient view of the narrow street outside—which was in total chaos. A giant mechanical centipede—well, some sort of segmented insect with multiple legs; Irene was hardly going to stand there and count them all—was wreaking havoc in the alleyway outside. She spotted a badly damaged cart and several broken windows. There was barely room for it to navigate, let alone turn around, and it was dancing a few steps forward and then a few steps back as its front feelers seemed to quest for something or someone. Oil oozed from its crevices, while steam puffed from its head segment and mingled with the ambient fog. She noticed that a couple of people had already been hurt and bystanders were screaming and running in all directions. Then of course pausing, at a theoretically safe distance, to watch what it did next.
Kai and Vale were standing in the doorway, assessing it. At least, Vale looked as if he was assessing it. Kai just looked stunned.
“How the hell did that thing get through the streets?” Kai asked.
Vale sniffed. “It probably came up from the sewers. The recent renovation programme has been a godsend to criminals across London.”
“Vale!” The creature’s echoing voice boomed down the street. “Prepare to face your doom!”
“Ah,” Vale said cheerfully, “it’s for me.”
Kai looked hurt. “It might have got us confused,” he said. “Perhaps it’s for me.”
“No, no, I assure you, it’s for me,” Vale said. “But would you mind watching the rear end while I distract the front? Sometimes they have high-emission scintillotherms located there.”
“Of course,” Kai said. “Not a problem.”
Irene leaned against the wall and tried not to sigh. Perhaps Vale was an ethical person, if his enemy was happy to risk innocent lives to hunt him down. Assuming he hadn’t staged the entire thing, of course, but it was also just one more distraction. How on earth was she supposed to manage an investigation with these constant interruptions?
The two men ran out into the street: Vale to the right, towards the creature’s head, and Kai to the left, towards its rear. Irene debated which one to follow. Kai was under her protection, but following Vale could be far more informative.
The question was settled for her as the centipede threw itself into rapid reverse, metal claws scraping on the pavement as it danced backwards. Its head came into view: a monstrous steel model of mandibles and huge faceted glass eyes, large enough for a man to sit in, with steam jetting out in thick squealing bursts on either side. Vale stood before it, his sword unsheathed from its cane and blazing with electricity. Each time the centipede lowered its head to try to bite at him, he parried, and sparks flew to sizzle against pavement and walls.
With a dazzling burst of speed, he darted forward between the gnashing mandibles and leapt up onto the main part of the centipede’s head, balancing there for a moment. He raised his blade and brought it down into one of the creature’s eyes.
Electricity blazed up in a great sparking column. The centipede gave a hissing scream and thrashed all along its length, one segment jolting into the next, with steam gushing out from all the apertures. A hatch dropped open beneath the creature, and a man in a greasy black boiler suit came rolling out of it, coughing and spitting.
Vale leapt down from the head, landing in a billow of coattails. He pointed his sword at the man. “Talk, sir, or—” At that point Irene’s attention was distracted by someone attempting to tug her bag out from under her arm. She turned to see one of the waiters—no, it wasn’t one of the waiters. It was a man in evening dress, with a napkin hastily thrown over one arm, posing as a waiter. His watch was
