“Inconvenient,” muttered Susan. “What about the bus?”
“Oh, we can take buses all right,” said Merlin. “But one of our taxis is better. I was lucky they let me have one this morning. Either you’re really interesting or they’re feeling for me in my weakened state.”
“I’m sorry I grabbed your shoulder,” said Susan. “I should have remembered.”
“Didn’t feel a thing, to tell the absolute truth, but don’t let anyone else know,” said Merlin. He was still looking up and down the square. “Where has Aunt Audrey gone with my cab?”
Susan looked, too. There were plenty of cars parked up all around the square, but no black cabs.
“She’s taken a fare, damn it!” swore Merlin. “She’s always tempted by a short run, bit of extra pocket money. She wouldn’t dare do it for the older cousins. And it’s going to rain.”
“So we have to get the bus after all,” said Susan. She looked up at the clouds gathering above. It was going to rain, in defiance of a brief promise of the spring becoming an early summer even earlier, with blue sky and sunshine between approximately 8:20 a.m. and 9:13 a.m. “Um, where are we going, by the way?”
“The New Bookshop,” said Merlin, who was still studying the cars on their side of the square. “Mayfair. Stanhope Gate.”
“Oh. I thought Inspector Greene said you sold new books at a big shop in Charing Cross Road. I’ve been to Foyles. Is it near there?”
“The New Bookshop sells old books, collectibles, and rarities,” replied Merlin, who still hadn’t moved off the step. Following his gaze, Susan saw he was intent on a green Ford van with two men sitting in it. “The Old Bookshop sells new books in Charing Cross Road. About a hundred yards up from Foyles.”
“That’s confusing,” said Susan. “Are those the actual names of the shops?”
“Yes,” said Merlin. “The New Bookshop, in its current form, was built in 1802; the Old Bookshop was built in 1729. Hence New and Old. Have you seen that green van before? In the square?”
Susan looked. It was a very nondescript green panel van, at least a decade old. It had faded “Greater London Council” lettering on the side.
“I don’t know,” she answered slowly. “I don’t pay much attention to cars.”
The men in the car saw her looking, turned to each other, and had a very brief conversation, ending in mutual nods. Doors opened, and they got out. Two ordinary workmen in overalls. Though the balaclavas and hammers were a bit unusual. . . .
One of them pointed at Susan.
“You, Susan Arkshaw. Come here!”
“Go inside and tell Mrs. London to press the button,” said Merlin easily, opening his tie-dyed bag. His gloved hand went in and came out holding the very large revolver. A Smython .357, Susan recalled as she fumbled her key into the lock and pushed the door open.
“Mrs. London! Merlin says press the button!”
Outside, Merlin was speaking in a conversational tone.
“Drop those hammers and hold your hands up . . . very high.”
Mrs. London came down the stairs at a trot, Mister Nimbus at her heels.
Susan couldn’t quite hear what one of the men in balaclavas said, but it was something along the lines of “Pretty girl . . . that gun’s too big for—”
Followed by the boom of a gunshot, a scream, the sound of hammers clattering on the road, and Merlin calmly issuing some more instructions.
“Booksellers!” spat Mrs. London, hurrying over to the “Stag at Bay” print in the gilded frame that hung in the hall above the shared phone on the wall. She pushed a corner to tilt the painting, revealed a recessed push button in the wall, and pressed her thumb firmly against it for a full second.
Susan stood aside as the landlady surprised her even more by drawing a small, blue-finished automatic pistol from her apron pocket and going to the partly open door, where she stood off to one side and looked out, holding her pistol with both hands down by her thigh in what seemed a very professional manner.
“Hmph,” she said. As Susan moved closer, she added, “No. Stay there.”
Merlin was saying something else to the men. Susan tensed, half expecting another gunshot. But none came. In the distance, she heard multiple sirens.
“What’s happening?”
“Two very stupid men are lying facedown in the road, one of them likely missing half his foot,” said Mrs. London.
The phone rang. Mrs. London left the door partly open but kept watching it, backing up to pick up the handset with her left hand.
“London. Yes. Secure. Two assailants down in the street, one GSW foot, ambulance required. One LIBER MERCATOR SPECIAL outside, a young . . . woman, blonde, blue dress, leather jacket, with revolver. I’ll tell her.”
Her Glaswegian accent had entirely disappeared while talking on the phone, Susan noted.
Mrs. London hung up and shouted out the door. The accent was back again.
“Merlin! Two D11 response cars minutes away, and the Tolpuddle panda. Hold up your warrant card.”
“Will do,” Merlin shouted back. “And here comes Aunt Audrey, looking abashed, as well she might. And where were you, Auntie?”
“Send her inside,” called out Mrs. London.
A few seconds later, a cheerful, short, black-haired, dark-skinned, fortyish woman in jeans, T-shirt, corduroy jacket, and one battered brown leather glove on her left hand came inside. In her bare right hand, she clutched a steaming roll of foil that smelled delicious.
“Wotcher, Mrs. L,” she said. “I only went to get a kebab because Merlin was taking so long, and I missed breakfast. Hello, you must be Susan. I’m Audrey.”
“Uh, hello, Audrey,” said Susan as Mrs. London gave a kind of grunt. The sirens were much closer now. “Uh, will I have to go to a police station again?”
“No,” said Audrey and Mrs. London at the same time.
“Inspector Greene will want to talk to you, though,” said Mrs. London.
“Got to come with us first,” said Audrey. “You recognize those two lads, Mrs. L?”
“No,” said Mrs. London. “No one local. Had to be, not to know what this place is. Or really stupid, I suppose.”
The sirens reached a crescendo outside, accompanied by screeching tires, which suddenly stopped and were replaced by the sound of numerous slamming doors. Blue light washed the hallway through the partly open door.
“Armed Police! Armed Police! Don’t move!”
Audrey unwrapped the end of her kebab and bit off a large mouthful. Mrs. London put her pistol back in her apron.
“Give ’em five minutes to clean up and we’ll be orf,” said Audrey indistinctly, her mouth full.
Chapter Five
Below the street in darkness deep
The goblins of the fair do sleep
Their mischief done until tomorrow
When they bring a new day’s sorrow
“YOU’RE VERY QUIET,” SAID MERLIN IN THE BACK OF THE TAXI. HE sat opposite Susan, on the fold-down seat, eyes flickering left and right, watching the cars behind and adjacent to them as they slowly drove up Euston Road. The traffic was horrendous, as per usual, and it had started to rain in a halfhearted way.