‘This,’ Mr Ambrose said, gazing coldly at the two doors, ‘is inconvenient.’

Karim swore violently.

‘What is this?’ I demanded, pointing to the bifurcation. ‘I thought you said there is only one corridor, and it leads straight on.’

‘I also mentioned that the plans were not up-to-date, if you remember, Mr Linton.’

‘Spiffing! Absolutely top-hole!’ Angrily, I gave the wall a kick. Naturally, it kicked back just as hard, as walls usually do. ‘So we’re just going to pack our bags and go home?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Mr Ambrose, who looked as if the whole thing was nothing more than an intellectual problem to be discussed over tea and biscuits. ‘There are two corridors. We are three people. Simple arithmetic tells us the solution. We will divide our forces, and whoever discovers Dalgliesh’s office or his personal safe will have to acquire the file and make it out of here.’

Karim, who had just been about to follow my example and kick the wall with all his force, stopped. I was rather glad. He might have brought down the house on top of us.

‘Of course!’ He exclaimed. ‘I’m at your service, Sahib. Where shall we go? Where shall we send…’ His eyes rested for a moment on me, while he searched for the proper pronoun. ‘…this individual?’

I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but Mr Ambrose was quicker.

‘No, Karim. We will not go together. You will go one way. Mr Linton and I shall explore the other corridor.’

Something like hurt showed under the black curls of Karim’s beard. I might have been sorry for him if I hadn’t been so busy suppressing a gigantic grin.

‘You’d rather be accompanied by this creature than by me, Sahib?’ the Mohammedan demanded.

Mr Ambrose made a terse movement with his head towards the second corridor. ‘I’d rather send somebody I can rely on where I cannot go myself, Karim.’

Nice. The grin stopped trying to force its way onto my face. So he couldn’t rely on me, could he?

Mollified by Mr Ambrose’s words, and probably also by the sour look on my face, Karim bowed.

‘I shall do as you command, Sahib.’

‘If you find the file, leave. If you find nothing, leave. Don’t wait for us. We will meet back at Empire House.’

Karim didn’t look too happy about that order. But he bowed again.

‘As you wish, Sahib.’

Without another word, he turned and disappeared down the corridor to the left.

‘Come on.’ Mr Ambrose motioned down the other corridor and started forward. ‘We have wasted enough time.’

I almost ran after him. Not that I would ever have admitted it, but leaving Karim behind sent a tingle of fear up my spine. No matter how many soldiers Lord Dalgliesh had at his command, I couldn’t see any of them getting past the huge Mohammedan. Now that he was gone, all Mr Ambrose had for protection was his cane, which just now didn’t seem as impressive to me as on the first occasion he had drawn its hidden blade.

Suddenly, Mr Ambrose stopped and held up his hand. That was a sign even I, with my very limited experience in burglary, had no problems understanding. I halted, and waited with baited breath.

When, after a few moments, nothing had happened, I whispered: ‘What is it?’

‘Voices,’ he said in a low, but otherwise normal, tone of voice. ‘Be quiet. And if you have to speak, don't whisper. We are soldiers, remember? We are supposed to be here, and if we whisper, it will sound suspicious.’

That actually made sense. ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And don't call me “Sir”,’ he added, still peering down the corridor, his back to me. ‘If somebody catches you doing it, we will be under immediate suspicion. We wear uniforms of the same rank.’

A grin spread across my face. ‘Do we, now?’

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes, Si- um, I mean, yes, mate?’

‘I can feel your smile. Dispose of it immediately.’

‘Yes, mate!’

‘And don't call me mate. Only drunken sailors do that.’

‘Yes, Si- ma- um… thingy.’

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes?’

‘Be silent! I am trying to listen.’

I decided against giving an answer. I had run out of forms of address in any case, and I was just as interested as he to hear what was going on up ahead. Straining my ears, I tried to catch the voices he had mentioned. There was something… Not voices, only indistinct noises. A clang of metal here, a dull thump there, that was it.

Then it came: a low shout, just before the next thump. Again a shout, a bit like a command, but not really, and then another thump.

‘What do you suppose it means?’ I whispered.

His hand jerked up.

Blast! I had forgotten: no whispering. Quickly, I continued in a more normal tone of voice: ‘That doesn't sound like an office, does it?’

He shook his head.

‘Well? What is it?’

‘I am reluctant to venture a guess with only audible data at my disposal, Mr Linton. But it sounds very much like a dock. Like a ship being loaded.’

‘But… we’re still a long way away from the docks, aren’t we?’

‘Yes.’

Without any further explanation, he started forward again.

Yes? That’s all you’re going to say?

Cursing inwardly, I hurried after him. He still marched along the corridor as if the whole place belonged to him, as if he had a right to be here that nobody could dispute. I did my best to imitate him, but probably didn’t quite succeed. Slowly, the noises up ahead grew louder, the voices clearer. It was clear now that things were being loaded. I could hear the recurring thumps of the load as it was let down from high above, and the squeak of what I supposed were pulleys and cranes.

The shouted commands made it certain:

‘Two yards to the left!’

‘Down! Now!’

‘A bit to the right!’

‘You’ve got it! Gently now, gently. This stuff is valuable!’

I could see light up ahead. Suddenly, the corridor opened in front of us into a wide hall. I wanted to duck back, but Mr Ambrose hissed at me out of the corner of his mouth: ‘Don’t you dare! They have already seen us!’

And he was right. The eyes of several soldiers who were standing on a gallery that lead all around the room were on us. They were out of hearing range, but they could see our every move.

‘Oh my God!’ I breathed. ‘What now?’

‘Do as I do,’ he hissed. ‘Exactly as I do, on the other side. Now!’

And he took a few steps to the right, until he stood at the left end of the corridor, and assumed an erect position, his arms clasped behind his back, his legs clamped together. Having no idea why, I did the same, and felt pretty silly about it.

After a few moments, the soldiers on the gallery seemed to lose interest in us. Their eyes wandered on to more important things, like the crates full of dried cod that were piled on top of one another in a corner of the hall.

I stared at them, fixedly, waiting for the ‘Seize them!’ or ‘Shoot!’. But no such command came.

‘What is the matter?’ I asked out of the corner of my mouth. ‘Why aren’t they suspicious? Why aren’t they even looking at us anymore?’

‘Because we are acting as soldiers are supposed to act,’ Mr Ambrose replied. I had no idea how, but he managed to speak without actually moving his lips. ‘We are standing guard.’

‘Standing guard? Over what?’

‘The entrance to this corridor, of course.’

‘What would anyone want to guard it for? It’s just a corridor!’

‘Soldiers aren’t trained to think about why they do things, Mr Linton. If they were, nobody would ever get an army together. Now be silent!’

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at his face. It was as cool and still as a block of ice. How could he do it? Inside me, fear, excitement and stress were writhing like a wounded snake. He didn’t show the least emotion. But then, he never did.

Oh yes, he sometimes does - in your imagination he does a lot of things…

Behind my back, I clenched my hands together. No! I couldn’t follow that train of thought, not now, not here of all places. Quickly, I let my eye wander through the hall to find something to distract me.

There was certainly enough to see.

At first, the red coats of the soldiers, flaring up like signs of danger, had distracted me from the rest. But now that they seemed to have lost interest in us entirely, I took in the rest of the giant room.

‘Room’ probably was not a big enough word. It was a cavern, a man-made cavern, almost as big as the entrance hall of Empire House. I could see that Mr Ambrose and his nemesis had the same penchant for giant proportions. Yet where in Mr Ambrose’s hall there had been a monument of cold barrenness, although it was the entrance to his headquarters, this hall in a simple East End outpost of the East India Company was flaming with sumptuous colour.

The walls were dark, red brick, interspersed with wooden beams painted red and white. Up above, the beams arched to support a flat ceiling. Torches hung from the wooden supports, plunging the whole scene into sinister shades of dark gold and orange. In the flickering torchlight, the glinting barrels of the soldiers' guns looked like the torture instruments of Satan’s disciples in hell.

Shadows flickered over the ceiling and the gallery that surrounded the room. Shadows also moved with the soldiers who were marching along the gallery, watching the scene below. And shadows were thrown by the gigantic contraptions that filled the centre of the hall.

I hadn’t been wrong. There were pulleys, cranes, ropes and even lorries in abundance. They formed a labyrinth through which hundreds of workers scuttled like ants over an anthill, carrying, fetching, shouting. If all things around them left bizarre shadow-paintings on the wall in the flickering torchlight, they themselves painted entire ghastly frescos in black and dark orange. The cranes were the arms of giant black octopi, and the ropes on the pulleys were snakes, waiting to strike and bite.

Under the ghastly play of shadows, on each of the four walls of the hall, hung a gigantic tapestry displaying a coat of arms: two roaring lions on either side of a shield showing a red cross on white ground. Although I had never seen this particular crest before, and the shadowy monsters on the wall made it hard to see, I had no trouble guessing what it was.

We were in Lord Dalgliesh’s lair. There was only one thing it could be: the official coat of arms of the Honourable East India Company.

Under the farthest of the tapestries, the one directly opposite me, the entrance to a tunnel gaped like an open maul. Tracks ran down into the tunnel, disappearing out of sight to God only knew where.

One thing was for sure: This was no mere warehouse or office building.

Slowly, I raised my eyes again to the towering golden lions above the entrance to the tunnel. Come on, they seemed to say. Dare approach. Dare enter into our forbidden realm. We will tear you to shreds before you’ve taken one step.

Nonsense! Taking a deep breath, I straightened and tried to look unconcerned.

Get a grip, Lilly! Those lions are just pieces of printed cloth. Do you want Mr Ambrose to think you’re scared of giant coloured bed sheets on a wall?

No. I did not want that. Particularly after the incident with the wooden dragon.

I glared at the lions, meeting their bold, glittering gaze head-on. My eyes fell on a blue band that wound like a snake under the lions' paws. There were letters on it. Yet even though they were printed in bright gold, in the semi-darkness of the hall they were nearly impossible to make out. Was this English? No, it looked more like a foreign language…

Auspicio… Regis… Et Senatus… Angliae…

What did that mean?

‘By the authority of the King and Parliament of England.’

Startled, my eyes flicked to where Mr Ambrose was standing, the perfect model of the British-Indian soldier.

‘That’s what it means,’ he said, again managing to speak in his cool, calm voice without his mouth even twitching. ‘The motto under the coat of arms of the East India Company that you were staring at. “By the authority of the King and Parliament of England”.’

‘How did you know that was what I was looking at?’ I hissed.

‘Your lips were moving, forming the Latin words. When I say “be silent”, Mr Linton, that also means don’t move your lips.’

Too preoccupied to argue, I gave a tiny nod and swallowed. My eyes once more took in the soldiers on the gallery, then returned to the roaring lions on the giant tapestries, and to the words they shouted at the world. Auspicio Regis Et Senatus Angliae…

No wonder Lord Dalgliesh felt justified in doing whatever he wanted. He had the Queen’s Official Seal of Approval.

Beside me, Mr Ambrose tensed. Tensed more than he was already tensed, I mean - which, considering his normal stance, was an impressive feat.

‘Out of the way! Quickly!’ With those words hissed into my ear, he sprang away and pulled me after him in a decidedly unsoldierly manner. We were behind a heap of crates before I could utter a word of protest. And then I heard his voice, and the protest died in my throat.

‘…have everything loaded onto the ship immediately, please, Captain. I shall await a full report in half an hour.’

Ice flooded my heart, and I stumbled after Mr Ambrose, not uttering a single word. Just before he pulled me out of sight, and we disappeared behind the heap of wooden crates, I saw it, out of the corner of my eye. I saw the golden mane and hawk’s beak. I saw the steely glint of piercing blue eyes.

Lord Dalgliesh was here.

‘So it is decided?’

The voice was rough with a hint of cockney, but many other accents mixed into it. Spying over the top of one of the crates, I saw the burly shape of a ship’s captain next to the aristocratic figure of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.

A hand gripped my collar and pulled me down. Suddenly, a hard body was pressing into me from behind.

‘If you intend to spy on them over the top of those crates,’ Mr Ambrose hissed into my ear, holding me with a granite grip, ‘then I suggest that you remove that blue hat before you do so. It sticks out over the top.’

Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Embarrassed, I snatched the blue hat off my head. He, I noticed, had already removed his. Pity. It really suited him.

‘Yes.’ That was the voice of Lord Dalgliesh.

‘And what decision have you come to, if I may ask, Your Lordship? I don't want to appear presumptuous, it is simply a matter of planning…’

‘The file is leaving this building, Captain. It is going out to Île Marbeau.’

My head whipped around to look at Mr Ambrose. The file! Had he heard, too? Yes. I could see that he had. His left little finger was twitching.

‘If you pardon my asking, Your Lordship…’ The captain’s voice was hesitant. ‘Why did you keep it here at all? Wasn't that a bit… risky?’

I looked over the wall of crates again just in time to see Lord Dalgliesh direct a friendly smile at his captain. It was the same friendly smile that a shark directs at his prey.

‘Risky?’ He enquired, smoothly. ‘Whyever would you think so?’

‘Um, well, the means by which you acquired the file were not exactly… you know…’

‘No. I do not know. Please, enlighten me.’

The captain met the gaze of the steel-blue eyes just for an instant.

‘Nothing,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I didn’t mean nothing, Your Lordship.’

Lord Dalgliesh nodded graciously. ‘I’m glad to hear that. I would be very sad to find out that my staff did not think well of me and my methods. You do think well of me, Captain, don't you?’

‘Of course, My Lord! I think the world of you, My Lord.’

‘How fortunate! Then, I believe, we can continue our working relationship in a manner profitable to us both. Now, where were we…?’

The captain opened his mouth to remind his master, but then thought better of the risk of talking, and shut his mouth again.

‘Ah, yes!’ Lord Dalgliesh raised a finger. ‘You were enquiring why I had not brought the file out of here at once.’ He met the captain’s eyes. ‘Doubtless you were concerned because there are so many thieves and crooks in London, and my rightful property is in danger here, am I correct?’

‘Yes, My Lord. Absolutely correct, My Lord.’

‘Well, I must admit, it had occurred to me to send the file to a safer location immediately. But, you see, unfortunately, it was in code.’

Puzzlement spread over the captain’s face. ‘Code? You mean like code of honour and that gentleman stuff?’

‘No. I mean a secret language.’ Lord Dalgliesh’s face was still smiling, but his right hand was speaking a different language. It had clenched into a tight fist, the knuckles white. ‘Unfortunately, we have not yet been able to decipher it.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something on Mr Ambrose’s face. His non-existent expression didn’t change, but I thought I saw a dark gleam of triumph in his eyes.

‘And even more unfortunately,’ Lord Dalgliesh continued, ‘the fact that the documents are encoded makes it difficult for them to be removed from London. The greatest cryptographers of the world work here at government institutes.’

‘But… now you’re taking the file out of here anyway?’ the captain dared to enquire.

‘Yes.’ Lord Dalgliesh took something out of his pocket and twirled it between his fingers. The object was shiny and yellowish, and looked like some kind of pelt. It took me a moment to recognize the lock of Simmons' golden hair. The hair of a dead man. With a quick, merciless motion, Dalgliesh crushed it between his fingers and let it fall to the floor. ‘I have received signs that this course of action would be advisable.’

The captain stared at the remains of the lock in confusion. He didn’t know what I knew.

‘But… what about these code experts? If, like you said, they live here in London, My Lord…’

‘I think they should be encouraged to move. Sea climate is very beneficial for one’s health at this time of year. I am sure you can explain this to them, very clearly.’

The captain blanched. ‘Your Lordship, surely you are not suggesting…’

He trailed off. Lord Dalgliesh waited, watching him quietly. Finally, he enquired: ‘Yes?’

Once more, there was a friendly smile on his face.

The captain swallowed. ‘I… My Lord, these are important men. If they should suddenly vanish in a violent manner…’

‘Violence? Dear me, who said anything of violence?’ Lord Dalgliesh’s smile widened a fraction. ‘You must have completely misunderstood me, Captain. You will encourage these people to take a holiday, nothing more. I am sure they will see the benefit of it when you have explained everything adequately.’

The captain’s head slumped down. It was probably pressed down by the weight he knew would come if something went wrong. If something went wrong, everything would be on his head. Lord Dalgliesh’s innocent smile made that clear. Lord Dalgliesh would always be innocent.

‘Their disappearance will not go unnoticed,’ he started a last attempt at convincing his master. ‘The press…’

‘The press will follow my suggestions and be discrete. I own it, after all.’

‘Well… not all of it, My Lord. Some of it belongs to Mr Ambrose.’

The friendly smile froze on Dalgliesh’s face. Around them, the workers stopped in mid-stride and turned towards the two. Silence fell over the hall, as more and more pairs of eyes fixed on them. Waves of silence spread out in the pond of the hall from the pebble that had been Mr Ambrose’s name.

It seemed to dawn on the captain that he had made a very serious mistake. The last remnants of colour drained from his face.

Dalgliesh took a step toward his subordinate.

‘What,’ he said very kindly and slowly, in the manner of a patient headmaster talking to a disobedient child, ‘did I tell you about mentioning the name of this man in my presence, Captain?’

The captain’s mouth opened and closed. No words came out.

‘Do I need to remind you again of the consequences if this should occur again, Captain?’

‘N-no, My Lord! I remember perfectly, My Lord!’

‘Excellent.’ Dalgliesh turned again, and continued on his way. At a flick of his hand, the labourers whirled around and started to work again, twice as fast as before. ‘Kindly have the file brought aboard and stored in the safe, Captain. Make sure it is in a watertight pouch.’

‘As you wish, My Lord.’

The voices receded as the two men walked down the hall. I sank to my knees, so I was completely hidden by the crates, and leaned towards Mr Ambrose, who had assumed the same pose.

‘What did he mean “have the file brought aboard”?’ I whispered. ‘Aboard what?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ he asked, his eyes looking into the distance. ‘The entrance to that tunnel down in the hall… It must lead to the docks. That must be how he gets things on ships he doesn't want the government to know about. Intriguing.’

‘But not in any way helpful,’ I pointed out.

‘On the contrary, Mr Linton.’ There was a cold gleam in his eyes. ‘Think about it. They are going to bring the file aboard the ship. Its current location is probably a separate, heavily guarded room. Even people dressed up as soldiers, as we are, would not be let in without a very good reason. But on the ship, things are different. People of all sorts hurry about, loading the vessel, checking security, carrying messages - it will be the ideal environment for us to retrieve the file. We will wait until it has been put aboard, then we will pretend to be part of the ship’s military escort and go through the tunnel. Having acquired the file, we will not return here, but simply leave the ship at the docks, and, discarding our disguise, make our way back to the carriage.’

‘What a brilliant plan, Sir. Of course, it all depends on whether this tunnel down in the hall actually leads to the docks, which at present is pure speculation.’

Mr Ambrose gave me a cool look. ‘I would rather refer to it as a hypothesis based on circumstantial evidence, Mr Linton.’

‘Would you indeed, Sir? And, assuming the tunnel really does lead to the docks, we will, of course, also have to worm our way through countless layers of guards and soldiers, and manage not to get caught and shot in the process.’

‘Naturally, Mr Linton.’

The coolness in his gaze intensified. He regarded me like a not particularly interesting bug under a microscope. I knew very well what he was thinking. He was thinking I was afraid.

Well… he was right about that. But he didn’t need to know that.

‘All right.’ Taking a deep breath, I stood up again and placed the blue hat on my head. It didn’t seem quite so ridiculous to me anymore. It and the rest of the uniform were all that stood between me and a fate I didn’t want to imagine. ‘Let’s go.’

For a single moment, Mr Ambrose looked almost - almost! - taken aback. Then he swiftly rose, too, and re-hatted himself. He was looking at me out of slightly narrowed, immeasurably dark eyes.

‘You are really going to come with me?’

‘Naturally.’ Those eyes… I could drown in them and never even want to breathe again.

‘But you just told me how dangerous it is.’

‘Well…’ I did my best to conjure up a brave smile. It wasn’t easy while he was looking at me like this. My knees felt as if they wanted to give way any minute. ‘They say fortune favours the brave, don’t they?’

‘Yes!’ Mr Ambrose growled. ‘And they are stupid. In my experience, fortune favours the powerful and ruthless.’

‘Well, we should be all right, then, shouldn’t we?’ I grinned up at him. ‘After all, you’ve got me on your side.’

He took a step towards me. ‘You have a very singular personality, Mr Linton.’

I couldn’t hide my smile. ‘Singular? You mean special, like Joan of Arc, or Queen Gwendolen?’

‘Not exactly.’ His hands came up to clasp my shoulders. ‘I was thinking more like an Ifrit.’

It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t offended. Why wasn’t I offended? And why the heck was I still smiling? He had just compared me to some kind of demon from hell!

His grip on my arms tightened. The darkness in his eyes flared.

‘Mr Linton, I…’ For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say more. But I should have known better. This was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. When did he ever want to say more or, for that matter, anything at all?

Instead, he suddenly let go, righted himself and stepped past me. ‘We’ve wasted enough time, Mr Linton. Follow me!’ he ordered without turning. ‘And be silent. If we encounter resistance, leave the talking to me.’

‘And if we encounter resistance that can’t be solved by talking, Sir?’

Dumping on the ground the leather bag he had brought with him all the way, he opened it and retrieved an object out of it: a long object made of gleaming wood and silvery metal. I sucked in a breath at the sight of the state-of-the-art rifle. His eyes met mine.

‘Leave that to me, too.’

*~*~**~*~*

Mr Ambrose’s snappy salute was so convincing that the guard at the entrance to the tunnel let us through without uttering a single word. He just saluted in return. I, too, attempted a salute and somehow managed one without knocking the blue hat off my head.

We stepped past the guard in silence. Before us loomed the black jaws of the tunnel. I couldn’t help it - a final time, I glanced up at the giant figures of the two roaring, golden lions hanging high above us. Their eyes seemed to be trained directly on me, watching my every move, knowing I did not belong here.

‘Eyes front, Mr Linton,’ Mr Ambrose hissed.

Hurriedly, I did as ordered and hastened my steps. The menacing glint of the golden-maned wardens above me disappeared, and the darkness swallowed me.

Or so I thought.

After a few moments, I could make out a faint glimmer farther down the tunnel. But it was very, very far off.

‘Why isn’t the tunnel better lit?’ I whispered.

‘Look around you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Do you see any windows or ventilation systems? Both torches and gas lamps produce poisonous fumes that would be hard to get rid of in such an enclosed space. Also, if I’m right about what kinds of illicit activities Lord Dalgliesh is conducting here, the end of the tunnel will have to be completely dark for the purpose of secrecy. We will have to watch our steps very carefully. And from now on, not one more question out of you, understood? Remember, we are supposed to be familiar with this place.’

Thank God I did as he told me and kept my mouth shut. Not two minutes later, a dozen soldiers suddenly appeared out of the darkness right in front of us. Light in the tunnel was so scarce that, even in their bright red uniforms, they were hardly more than shadows. Yet these shadows were armed, and looking none too pleased.

‘Are the Ching Chongs still at it?’ one growled.

‘Ye bet they are!’ another answered. ‘Damned yellow bastards! Not a night when they can’t get to bed like decent folk. And it’s the likes of us that has to…’

They went past us, and soon their voices vanished into the distance.

So the Dance of the Dragon was still going on outside, was it? I felt suddenly cold at the thought of what exactly the soldiers had been ordered to do. Why were they marching, as I was sure they were, out into the street to where the Chinese were dancing? I sneaked a sideways glance at Mr Ambrose’s profile in the gloom. It was too dark to really see his face. Was he feeling the chill inside, too?

Dumb question. He probably was constantly at a core temperature of - 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

Up ahead, there shimmered a faint light again. Not yellowish light this time, though, but cold, blue light. The light of the moon. As we came closer, I saw that it was falling into the tunnel through tiny cracks in a wooden wall - a wooden wall that ended the tunnel.

I opened my mouth to ask ‘What now?’ - but Mr Ambrose threw me one of his special looks, and I closed it again. He stepped closer to the wooden wall, which in spite of the few strands of moonlight, was utterly black, and let his hands skim over it. About halfway up the wall his searching hands suddenly stopped. The fingers closed around something, pressed, and pushed.

The door swung open, revealing a view of a narrow stretch of water, and a harbour wall, half covered in algae. Distantly, I could hear the sound of the Dragon Dance, and I was relieved that it sounded as if all the dancers were still alive and perfectly fine.

‘How did you know there was a doorknob, Sir?’

‘When you have a secret passage that nobody is supposed to be able to find from the outside, it rather makes sense to have the doorknob for the entrance on the inside, don't you think?’

Now that he said it, it sounded rather obvious. But then, how the heck would I know? This was my first secret passage ever, after all! Was it his first? I looked at his face, hard and implacable in the moonlight. Probably not.

Carefully, he leaned out of the open door, his eyes flicking to the left and right without his head moving an inch. In a moment, he was back inside the tunnel, right beside me.

‘No guards around,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Do you think that we’ve somehow gone the wrong way? That the file isn’t here at all?’

‘I doubt it. Look.’

Imitating him, I carefully stuck my head out of the door and let my eyes flick to the left, then to the right. There it was! To the right, a narrow catwalk, hardly more than a ridge, led along the harbour wall. It disappeared behind the bulk of a sleek, rather small ship with only two masts. It would have been completely unremarkable, if not for the dark, even colour of its hull, which was unlike that of any ship I had ever seen.

‘You saw it?’ he asked, when I ducked back into the tunnel.

‘The catwalk? Yes. Cleverly done, that. You probably don't even notice it from up at the docks. And even if you do, what’s the significance? But down here, you can sneak from the tunnel to any ship in the dock without anybody seeing.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. But it’s not the catwalk that worries me. I knew it would be there.’

‘Really? But you are worried?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s that ship. I think it may be…’

From behind us, out of the tunnel, we suddenly heard the sound of approaching feet in lockstep. The sound grew louder.

‘Quick!’ he hissed, pushing me out of the door and onto the catwalk. ‘Onto the ship before they see us and think of asking questions!’

Suddenly, I stood in the moonlight, open and exposed. I prayed to God that there were no guards on that sinister black ship. But even if there were, what was there to see? Just another one of their own soldiers, I hoped. At the moment, however, I didn’t feel very soldierly.

Behind me, I heard the door shut with a click.

He’s out, I thought. He’s behind you, and he’s expecting you to move! Go on! Move your generous behind, he’s relying on you!

And somehow, my feet, which just a moment ago seemed to be frozen to the wood of the catwalk with icy fear, started to move. The black silhouette of the ship loomed above me, its masts and ropes throwing a spider’s web of shadows across the way in front of me, a web in which I would soon get caught.

I entered the web of shadows, and my heart went cold. Around the curve of the ship’s hull appeared the name of the ship, painted in bright crimson that was turned by the moonlight into the colour of dried blood:

NEMESIS

Behind me, I could hear Mr Ambrose suck in a sudden breath. Instinctively, I tried to turn, but hard arms grabbed me from behind.

‘Keep going!’ Mr Ambrose hissed. ‘They may be watching us from the ship, even if we cannot see them. Just keep going.’

‘But… you know that ship’s name. I know you do. What is the matter? What is so special about it?’

‘Keep going, I said! Or do you want us both to lose our heads tonight? Yes, I know the ship. Or at least, I have heard reports of it. If it is the one I think it is, it’s the most modern and devastating warship of the world.’

I stared at the slender, black silhouette of the two-master with mingled fear and incredulity. This? The most devastating warship of the world? I didn’t know much about ships, but most of the Royal Navy ships I had seen entering and leaving the port were much larger than this thing, with a great many more cannons and masts.

He has to be joking.

Then, my eyes fell once more on the threatening, black hull, and I remembered that Mr Ambrose did not ever joke.

‘Why?’ I asked quietly. ‘What makes it so dangerous?’

‘It is the first warship made entirely out of steel. Where other ships shatter and crumble under cannon-fire, this thing will simply sail on. It’s Lord Dalgliesh’s latest contribution to our great British Empire. The flagship of his fleet. Everybody was so pleased when he announced the project. What a great triumph for Britain’s naval superiority, et cetera. The Queen congratulated him.’

‘Does anybody know to what use he is putting his marvellous ship? That he is using it to steal and smuggle?’

‘I don't think so. If they did, I think the Queen might have refrained from her congratulation.’

We were almost directly underneath the large, red letters now. The Nemesis loomed over me like a spider in the centre of its web, ready to strike.

‘Lord Dalgliesh really means business this time,’ Mr Ambrose said darkly. ‘Nobody would be stupid enough to get in his way while he is on this swimming fortress of steel.’

I shuddered. Mr Ambrose’s nemesis travelling on the Nemesis… it was fitting, in a poetic sort of way. How unfortunate that I had always detested poetry.

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but quickly, Mr Ambrose grabbed my arm from behind and pressed. Thank God I understood the signal! He had to have heard something, for a moment later, a figure in a dark cloak appeared above us on the deck of the ship. Underneath the dark cloak, I could see a thin strip of bright red. Another soldier of the Presidency Armies.

The soldier made a quick upward motion with his outstretched hand. Mr Ambrose nodded. Non-verbal communication - this was one thing in which he was an expert. A moment later, a ladder was lowered from the ship onto the deck.

Blast! I would have to go up first. My heart hammering wildly, I reached out for the rungs of the ladder.

Do you know the fairy tale about Jack and the beanstalk? You know, the one where this silly chap ends up in a land inhabited by giants by climbing a mile-high beanstalk that leads all the way to the sky? Well, let me tell you, the fellow had it easy! Beanstalks are nothing! The ladder I had to climb to the deck of the Nemesis was at least twice as high as the sky. And all the time while I was climbing, and climbing, and still climbing, I knew that something far worse than giants awaited me at the top. Giants were usually really stupid, and not armed with guns.

Finally, I reached the last rung. My hand reached up to grasp the ship’s railing - and another hand, large, coarse and hairy, gripped mine. I almost jerked back my arm, and remembered just in time that this was supposed to be the hand of a comrade. Before I could think another thought, the powerful hand pulled upwards and hauled me over the railing, onto the deck of the ship. Immediately, I was pressed down and forced to my knees. An angry red face appeared in front of me. Stinking breath full of garlic and alcohol hit my nose, and I gagged.

‘What the hell are you thinking?’ the soldier growled, his voice low but seething with rage. ‘What are you doing here in that getup?’

I stared up at him, eyes wide.

What the heck is happening? What have you done, Lilly? Have you given yourself away somehow, you silly idiot?

The angry soldier grasped a piece of his black coat that was hanging over his shoulder and waved it in front of my face. ‘Completely in red and blue? People will be able to see you from the other side of the harbour!’

Suddenly, I understood. All the other soldiers on the deck, who stood around us in a semi-circle, sinister expressions on their faces, were wearing similar dark cloaks, so as not to be seen by people on the docks. And I didn’t have one.

Blast! Of course they were angry! How long would it take for anger to turn into suspicion? How long before they realized who I really was and-

Thud!

Two feet landed on the deck beside me with an impact that resounded through my entire body. I could see the ends of familiar black trousers peeking out under the blue uniform trousers of the Bengal Army. Without looking up, I knew who it was. But I looked up anyway.

Mr Rikkard Ambrose towered over me, glaring down at the man who had his clenched fist just under my nose. I swallowed. He looked a lot more menacing from this angle. His granite aspects increased a thousandfold, he stood there like a true monumental statue, immovable and awe-inspiring.

The soldier beside me seemed to feel the same. Slowly, he drew back his fist.

Mr Ambrose nodded and gave the man a look that made him retreat a yard or two. Crouching down beside me, my employer looked at me. He didn’t raise an eyebrow or otherwise disturb the perfect cool smoothness of his face, but somehow I got the impression that his eyes were asking: are you all right?

I nodded.

He nodded back at me, and surreptitiously squeezed my shoulder. Warmth spread out from the spot his fingers had touched. Deep inside I knew he had just made the gesture to keep me calm, to prevent me from ruining his plans - but still, this small gesture sent an unfamiliar ache through my heart. An ache that was at once both soothing, and painful.

Mr Ambrose turned his eyes on the red-faced soldier again. And this hardened warrior, used to the glares of dozens of drill sergeants and the hate in the eyes of the enemy, drew back before the cold threat in those arctic eyes.

I couldn’t blame him.

Raising his hand, Mr Ambrose made a quick gesture encompassing the two of us, then he pointed below.

The soldier hesitated.

Mr Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, and the cold force of his dark eyes intensified.

Hurriedly, the soldier nodded. His thoughts were as obvious as if they had been painted on his blue hat: the sooner these two strange fellows were below deck, the sooner they would be out of his way.

Grasping my arm, Mr Ambrose pulled me across the deck, towards the stern of the ship. There, I could just make out a wooden superstructure in the moonlight, with a small door in it.

‘Keep your head down,’ Mr Ambrose said in a low voice. ‘We wouldn’t want to be spotted, now, would we?’

The double meaning in his words was evident - and he was right. I didn’t want to be spotted by people on the docks. And I definitely didn’t want to be spotted by the people on the ship for what I really was.

There was a guard at the door we were approaching. Mr Ambrose made a motion with his head, and he opened the door for us. Without saying ‘thank you’ or even nodding, Mr Ambrose pushed me past him and down into the darkness. The door closed behind us.

We stood in a narrow passageway, its walls made of dull grey steel. A lamp dangled from a hook in the wall, painting the steel with flickering stains of red and yellow. Turning around, I jabbed at the insignias on Mr Ambrose’s uniform.

‘Do you have a higher rank than those fellows out there?’ I demanded.

‘Higher rank, Mr Linton?’

‘Yes! They keep doing what you tell them to do. Well, actually it’s worse. They keep doing what you want without you having to tell them. Are you a lieutenant, or colonel or something?’

Mr Ambrose gave me a look. ‘It has nothing to do with rank, Mr Linton. In fact, I am masquerading as a simple soldier. One simply has to act as if one has no doubt that people will do as one wishes. In most cases, that will take them by surprise so much that they forget to refuse. Now come.’

He started down the corridor, and I had already taken the first two steps after him before I realized what I was doing.

One simply has to act as if one has no doubt that people will do as one wishes. In most cases, that will take them by surprise so much that they forget to refuse.

For a moment, I considered refusing, just for the fun of it. But then, I sighed and shook my head. Now wasn’t the time.

We continued down the corridor. At more or less regular intervals, we came upon metal doors set into walls that seemed to serve no particular purpose.

‘Bulkheads,’ Mr Ambrose said when I asked about them. ‘Walls separating the ship into smaller compartments. They normally just serve the purpose of giving the vessel more structure and stability. But these look to be watertight. In the event of a cannonball penetrating the outer hull, the door can be closed and the ship can fight on as if practically nothing happened. It’s the first time I’ve seen something like this in a warship.’

His words sent a cold shiver down my spine. I bit my lip to contain my anxiety.

‘Where are we heading, exactly?’ I asked.

‘Nowhere. The ship is not very large. To judge by eye, I would say a length of eighty-four feet, and maybe a draught of six or seven feet. We are going to search it from top to bottom until we find the file. Then we are going to leave.’

‘Don’t you think that plan might be a little simplistic?’

‘No.’

And that was it. I didn’t get another word out of him. We marched through dark, dank corridors of steel, now and then opening a door to the left or the right to spy into a tiny steel compartment. They all held crates of different shapes and sizes. Apparently, Mr Ambrose’s file wasn’t the only thing Lord Dalgliesh was eager to get out of the country.

Finally, we came to a junction where the corridor split into two.

‘Should we split up?’ I asked, keeping my voice down. I thought I could hear the faint mumbling of voices somewhere, and they had better not hear us.

Mr Ambrose shook his head.

‘Smell that?’ He pointed down one corridor. ‘That way smells of oil and smoke. The engine room will be down there. Lord Dalgliesh would never keep such sensitive papers anywhere near a burning fire. Let’s go this way.’

And he started down the other corridor. By now, I had long lost any sense of direction. I only hoped that Mr Ambrose would be able to find the way out again. He certainly seemed confident enough. But then, he always did. Even when, after checking three more storage rooms, we ran smack into a dead end.

Mr Ambrose stopped. He stood there for a moment. His left little finger twitched, once.

‘All right. Let’s turn around. I think there was another junction not too far back. We can-’

He cut off, as voices came down the corridor.

‘…everything been stored down here?’

‘Yes, everything, apart from these last few sacks.’

Abruptly, Mr Ambrose leaned down to my ear. ‘Stay calm.’ His voice was quiet, cool, assured. He must have seen the fear on my face. ‘We will just walk past them. Remember, those are soldiers, just like us. We can simply walk past them.’

‘And the men didn’t open a single crate or sack?’ the voice in the distance asked.

‘Yes, Lord Dalgliesh,’ the other answered.

Beside me, Mr Ambrose stiffened.

‘Just soldiers?’ I hissed, my voice trembling more than I would have liked.

He moved more quickly than I could have believed possible. In a moment, he had flung open the door to my left and pushed me into the dank little room. There was hardly enough space for me there; most of it was taken up by a giant wooden crate, over eight feet high. Slamming his cane between the lid and the walls, he heaved. The lid popped open.

‘What-’ I began. But before I could finish my sentence or take a closer look at the contents of the crate, I was lifted up by a pair of hard, powerful arms and thrown not very ceremoniously into the wooden container.

The fact that I landed face-first in wood wool muffled the string of unladylike curses that came from my lips, and probably saved my life. From outside, I could hear shuffling feet.

‘Where do you want the sacks, Your Lordship?’ I heard a gruff sailor’s voice from somewhere outside.

‘Over there.’

‘Yes, Your Lordship.’

The steps outside approached our little room. A moment later, something heavy landed on top of me, forcing the air out of my lungs, and the lid slammed shut above me. Gasping for breath, and getting only more wood wool, I reached up to shove aside whatever was suffocating me. But it was too hard and heavy to shift. Hell’s whiskers, what was it? Was Lord Dalgliesh already in the room, and had his men thrown a sack on top of me, without bothering to look into the crate? My hands reached out, touching, and I felt something bulging under rough cloth. A sack of potatoes, maybe?

My hand reached further up. There, the cloth ended, and my fingers touched something softer. It didn’t feel like a potato. It was oval and seemed to have some sort of hole in the middle…

‘Mr Linton,’ I heard a low voice from right above me, ‘kindly take your finger out of my ear!’