Author's Note: Kelly Jones is back! Taking place a few years after the events of 'Wicked! Sounds Like My Kind of School' and the events of 'St Trinian's (2007)' and 'St Trinian's 2: Legend of the Fritton Gold', Clarke's Law is a Kelly dominated story set in 2009. The story line's been hanging around for some time and I made use of NaNoWriMo 2013 to get it from basic outline to this. (Yes, I did manage the 50 000 words in a month :) ) As with 'Wicked!' updates should be regular so stay tuned!

Now enjoy!

Part 1

Prologue

Running through the dark, lights flickering above, long shadows ahead. Skidding to a stop, scrambling to get out of sight, back pressed against a wall. The throbbing of blood in ears as footsteps thud, thud, thud their way closer. Look right, shadows. Look left, more shadows. Look up, a fence. Fingers straining to take the weight, up and over. Ankles scream, rolling sideways to lessen the fall. Shouts of alarm, must keep moving. They're not far behind. Over another fence. Gunshot. Hit the ground, glancing about for the source of the bullet. Flash of light nearby. Change direction and leap one more fence. Brush leaves aside, make for the open road.

Heart sinks, dead end ahead but no way left now. Turn back, a shadow running towards the pursuers stops halfway. The shadow rushes back urgently, something left behind. Hand grasped by another, pulled along, the distance narrowing, closer and closer to the edge. No more road, just air. Hovering over the pit of darkness below then descending, falling. The decent continues. Bubbles rise. Upwards? Downwards? Forcing forward to the surface. Head breaks through-

Kelly's eyes snapped open as she inhaled deeply. She rubbed sleep, not water, from her eyes. She reopened them and stared into the dark, her heart beating erratically. A photograph pinned to a corkboard overhead stared back at her. The subject of the photograph grinned down at her and as much as the sight of such a happy face in the early hours of the morning might bother her, she found herself smiling in return. Sometimes it seemed as though she was really there.

A long sigh breathed into the room.

She directed her attention to the various post-it notes also pinned to the board. 'Sleep!' one read but she ignored that one, eying another that read 'Coffee?' Mmm, she thought, that sounded like a good idea.

A creak on the stairs interrupted her thoughts. She frowned although secretly grateful for the distraction. Someone was up and moving at this ungodly hour. She slipped out from under the sheets and slid her feet into a pair of flat shoes. Heels were her preference usually but they tended to click, click, click on the floor and she didn't want to wake anyone else. She ran her fingers through her hair once to flatten it and trusted the darkness of the pre-dawn hours to conceal its mess. She deadlocked the door on the way out.

The hallway appeared empty. A sliver of moonlight guided her safely to the bottom of the landing. Upstairs or downstairs? She pressed herself into the corner and closed her eyes to listen to the whispers of the building. They directed her to the rooftop. An icy breeze struck her. Her hands buried under her arms, she silently approached a shadowed figure leaning against the railing nearby. A curse carried to her ear. The stench of tobacco soon followed as the figure fumbled with a lighter. Her nose crinkled in disapproval but she progressed no further. The trip out of the warmth of her room had been proven unnecessary. Just the late night smoker, she realised and shook her head. Habits were hard to push aside. This was the ninth time the resident of the apartment three doors down had woken her.

I need to get a grip, she thought, and some coffee wouldn't hurt either.

For someone who liked to have everything planned out, Kelly Jones knew she had been drifting. Sure, the successful theft of The Girl with the Pearl Earring had provided her with a ticket into elaborate underworld networks across the UK but she hadn't had any desire to establish ties to a group or gang. The commitment was among a list of issues. She valued her independence too much to align herself with others. It was refreshing to move freely through the world having finished her education. She was free to roam at will. Nothing tied her down; no deadlines, no responsibilities to anyone but herself and no obligation to do anything she didn't want to do.

Well, that wasn't quite true. While money wasn't a huge issue for her, it was still necessary to ensure a steady income.

That was where MI7 came into the picture. They paid her well for her reconnaissance and it was considerably less risky than thieving. Her job utilised a wide variety of her talents. She certainly wasn't getting rusty. Generally she would assess locations, investigate vulnerabilities and supply this information in return for a healthy payment but she was pleased to find herself placed on various missions as well. Thankfully her superiors made sure these involved using her skills instead of putting her behind a desk or on long term placement undercover.

Of course her carefully selected career path had meant leaving her schoolmates behind and vanishing without a trace. She'd had to virtually disappear. Her ties to the school and her peers would never be severed completely but she had to create distance between them and her. It was a sacrifice she had to make to work for the government while her peers continued to elude, break and stretch the law.

Polly always managed to find her though. The initial annoyance that she couldn't elude the Geek gradually transformed into anticipation. It became a bit of a game really. Every so often Kelly would take an image of her current location and send it off to her then count the minutes before Polly gave the exact GPS coordinates. It was Polly who had forwarded a distress call from Kelly's successor, Annabelle, to her mobile and it had been nice to hear about the trouble her schoolmates had been up to, even though it had made her feel detached from what had been home. Admittedly it hadn't been the best time to take a call, hanging from her feet and disabling a bomb. After the call, Kelly considered the other nomination letter she had left with the Headmistress that had never been opened. She spent most of the night grinning about it how things could have been if it had. The amusement wore off when she began considering other alternative futures and did her best to distract herself with some scouting of a potential target.

Ordinarily, Kelly would have considered two calls within two weeks to be clingy as Annabelle had to learn to deal with leadership her own way. Learning to deal with crises was part of the job as Kelly knew too well. Hearing that the school had been invaded was a different matter. That was not an internal affair but an external one. Polly had complained about having no visuals to analyse the flaws in the defences while Kelly had fumed the entire three hour drive there. She had extensively interrogated Annabelle to develop a mental image of events in her mind and had concluded that the siege would never have got that far under her direction.

She was undecided about the helicopter and the second assault though.

Breaking and entering a secret society in order to recover a stolen heirloom made her realise she had really missed having a motive behind her actions. The mission had been implemented without too many issues however the heirloom had not been inside the safe. It had been almost infuriating. Still it wasn't Annabelle's fault. She'd barely had a year's experience in the world of St Trinian's and next to none in espionage. Nonetheless, she had proved her worth by planning and leading the break in. Kelly had enjoyed accompanying her, yet she was struck by regret. Something told her things would have been very different if Miss Fritton had presented the other recommendation letter.

Not much more had changed in the year since then, save moving into a new apartment. The drawers were full of her belongings, a corkboard fitted onto the ceiling above a king-sized mattress, shoes sat at the foot of the bed and a printer awaited connection to her laptop on a modest desk. The layout was almost identical to how she had had her room back at the school. It was the reason she had picked it. It was sparsely furnished. Growing up in an environment surrounded by thieves and other radicals, she had developed a mindset of minimalism. If she could not fit it into a backpack and walk out with it, never to return, then she refused to buy it, save one exception. Initially she had tried to justify the purchase of the coffee machine with the inability of the nearest café to make decent coffee. After she moved to this apartment, she tried to convince herself it was to avoid falling into the trap of predictable behaviour through purchasing the rather excellent coffee from the corner store every morning. Then it was to have a constant supply regardless of the hours the store was open. Eventually she admitted it was a luxury but, since the period of return had expired, it would be a waste to discard it when she could make use of it.

As much as her lifestyle had changed from averting and restricting chaos to working for MI7 and waking in a peaceful environment where she could eat, sleep and shower without worrying about her fellow peers, two constants had smoothed the transition from one world to another; coffee and the photograph that watched over her while she slept and greeted her every time she woke.

"Good work last night, Agent Jones."

Kelly nodded slightly. Her supervisor was pretty stingy with compliments so she waited for the complaint.

"Honestly, you look a mess."

I feel a mess, she thought. Needed two spoons of sugar to get here; two tablespoons. Late afternoon was usually when she woke up. It suited her work however sleeping until dusk was uncommon for her. Not that she'd call it sleep as she had tossed and turned and felt just as exhausted as she'd been before she'd closed her eyes.

"You won't be catching any shut eye tonight," he went on. "You've got a retrieval; an SD card containing some software. One of our clients had a break in yesterday. We have located the group responsible. We're sending you in to get it back, preferable undamaged."

This will be a challenge, thought Kelly. SD cards are tiny and easily hidden. It could be in a pocket or a computer or anywhere really. USBs were at least a bit larger and easier to spot but an SD card sounded like a challenge. Recovering information in the 21st Century was far more difficult due to the internet. Once information got there, there was little that could be done to eradicate it. Sooner or later it could reappear.

I'm going to enjoy this.

"Agent Caringbah has been assigned as your back-up."

The pristine mission fractured. Kelly longed to roll her eyes. Wonderful. Like that idiot Caringbah will be any good. He can't fight himself out of a paper bag, doesn't know discreet and is far better suited for designated driver duty than a back-up agent. Honestly, I don't know what good he does. He isn't half the mastermind Polly is but at least he could give directions and divert security cameras if he was put behind monitors and a computer. Back-up agents are supposed to be ready to leap into action without hesitation and ensure the mission was completed successfully. A competent agent could have reduced the area she needed to search for the SD card.

Caringbah on the hand is going to be of no help at all.

"Heya Keladry."

She hid an eye-roll of disdain at the nickname. "Agent Caringbah," she nodded curtly in acknowledgement.

"You're looking splendid this evening."

Ugh, stop right there. Don't even try. You will only whittle what patience I have left. Kelly resisted the urge to tug at the collar of her long sleeved shirt. She longed for it to cling to her neck more tightly and keep the evening chill of the back of her neck. Wanting to get this mission over and done with, she collected the surveillance equipment; a small broach and a pair of modest earrings. Pinning the broad to her collar, she glanced at the monitor in the back of the car and nodded when the footage from the broach appeared. Caringbah muttered numbers into a microphone as Kelly adjusted the volume of the earring receivers.

That done Kelly turned and poked a finger into Caringbah's chest, "No matter what it might look like in there, you must not follow me."

He frowned, his eyebrows almost disappearing under his long brown hair. He was probably struggling to process the instructions as they went against the directives of being a back-up agent. Caringbah wasn't stupid but she doubted he would take much convincing. Thankfully he wasn't a glory-seeker like some of the others she had been forced to cooperate with. At least he wasn't about to sprint into the middle of things against her advice and try to play the hero. It was infuriatingly senseless throwing away all reason just to 'steal' victory. There is a distinct difference being knowing how competent you are and having pride in your successes and being an arrogant glory-hog.

With Caringbah, she could appeal to his sense of reason. "I need you to be my eyes while I'm inside," she explained while donning gloves. "Should I need to bolt out of there, I'll need you where you can see what's coming and that's behind those monitors."

He gave a reluctant nod.

"One more thing," she added. "If something does go wrong and you are discovered, you hi-tail it out of here with or without me."

She had no desire to attempt another rescue where the rescuee was caught after running in trying to rescue her.

Scaling the roof didn't take long. The brickwork made climbing a breeze by providing numerous handholds. Her gloved fingers found purchase on the little outcrops of brick. There wasn't even a need for a grappling hook. Freeclimbing it was much faster and, seeing as the building was only a few metres tall, there wasn't much of a risk of falling either. Finding something to latch the rope to for the trip down once she had completed her mission was a bit trickier. It had to be close enough to the edge to ensure the rope almost touched the ground below. Less thorough agents had made the mistake of misjudging the height of buildings they were trying to abseil down and found themselves several meters off the ground when the rope ended. Numerous St Trinian girls had made the same mistake during training for the National Gallery Heist, much to Kelly's disappointment.

She gave the rope a quick tug. Secure but a little too tense. She adjusted the knot and tugged again. Better.

Having prepared her escape route, she slipped inside via a rooftop door. As she navigated through the building's corridors, Caringbah's voice occasionally broke the sound of keystrokes in her ear. "About three office-sized rooms on the second floor," he directed her.

It was as good a place to start as any, but were they occupied? Security cameras weren't anything to worry about on this mission as there weren't any to be found. A blessing and a curse – apart from the blueprints and CCTV outside the building Caringbah didn't have much to work with. It meant Kelly was going in almost blind. She had no way of knowing what might be around the next corner. It did explain why a third member of the party, a techie, hadn't been assigned. There wasn't anything a techie could do here.

The corridor was clear when she reached the first office door. She pulled off her left glove and gently pressed the back of it against the handle. Cold. It hadn't been opened recently. Most probably unoccupied. As a bonus, the door was locked. Undeterred by a simple lock, she slipped two hairpins out of her hair and used them as makeshift lock picks.

"Show off," mumbled Caringbah and she grinned.

MI7 issued standard lock-picking instruments to all field operatives but she had yet to find a lock she couldn't pick without them. It was something she took a lot of pride in. Any amateur could use those tools. It made lock-picking an action, not an art as it rightfully should be. Picking a lock required patience, skill and a gentle touch. Twisting the picks in opposite directions, she inhaled deeply at the sound of the door creaking open.

She closed the door behind her. Now, thought Kelly, where would I keep an SD in this mess? As dull and universal as office buildings were, you couldn't complain too much. They were consistent. Consistency was a good friend to spies and thieves. While she was working as the former, the practice of the later advised her to search the second drawer of the nearest desk. It was locked after all. Locks had this allure, this aura of a subtle challenge. It was almost disappointing how easily it relinquished its contents to her.

"Bingo," she whispered as she pushed aside a pile of papers and located her target. As she picked it out of the collection of stationary, her muscles tensed. A shiver ran down her spine. Her sixth sense warned her of potential discovery. This room was not going to be unoccupied for much longer. Immediately she made for the window but it refused to budge.

"Kelly?" questioned Caringbah, oblivious to the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor.

She made a gesture in front of the broach-camera and, recognising the signal, he went quiet. Having nowhere else to hide, she pressed her back to the wall behind the door. Her fingers ran over the edges of the SD card in the palm of her hand as the echoes grew louder.

The handle rattled. A key turned in the lock. The door swung open. Kelly didn't dare breathe. Someone halted in the doorway. Their eyes jumped to the desk draw, open and papers dumped onto the desk. Silently Kelly gave the broach a thumbs-down. Blown.

The man cried in alarm as she shoved him aside and darted out into the corridor. Several other voices responded to the cry. Kelly abandoned the rooftop escape, darting down the corridor as the occupants of the rooms gave chase.

"Stairs on the left," directed Caringbah. "Fire escape."

She heard crackling from the earpieces then cut off his urging to hurry up and made a shooing motion with her hands. By the time she reached the street the van, and Caringbah, were gone. She was glad he hadn't waited. Her pursuers were not far behind her.

She ran, following the road, the roaring of motorbikes as they revved into life echoing behind her. She did her best to elude them by climbing over obstacles and entering narrow alleyways. Out in the open she was a target but the tight spaces made it difficult to navigate. She was relieved they hadn't any guns with them, none that she could hear being fired at any rate. A sinking feeling told her they were the more brutal kind of aggressors. Images of batons, clubs and other blunt instruments came to mind. The pessimist inside added sharp stabbing tools to that inventory and that spurred her on.

Her feet protested before her lungs did, a tingling burning sensation that made every step feel like stepping onto hot coals. She panted and gasped for breath, pressing herself into a doorway. Footsteps echoed around her. Engines thrummed in the distance then approached, then faded again. Glancing left and right, she was unable to identify which way she should be heading. Her internal compass was spinning. It was just about possible to hazard a guess as to which way she'd come from. The lack of moon to guide her only frustrated her further.

I am not lost, she thought firmly. I can find my way if I just find a rooftop.

No purchase could be found on either wall around her. Cursing, she forced herself to keep moving and search for other vantage points. She no longer needed one after turning the corner. A landmark orientated her but she was spotted and a cry rang out somewhere in the dark. The engines grew in volume. Soon to be surrounded, Kelly raced to find alternatives to the plan of action that threw itself to the forefront of her mind. If I could climb that wall... No, there's nothing to hold on to. Down that street but there's a headlight coming this way. With a deep sigh, she glanced down at the SD card in her hand. Retrieve undamaged, they'd said. Well, nothing ventured…

Hurriedly raising her hand to her mouth, she ran towards the open space and vaulted over the short wall, greeting the Thames with a splash. I really have to stop doing this, she thought as the air was pushed out of her lungs and out her nose. It's becoming a habit.

The pressure threatened to cause her to inhale the air stored within her cheeks but she didn't dare. Her legs kicked upwards until she broke the surface. Wanting desperately to open her mouth and breathe in deeply, she forced herself to rely on her nose for oxygen. She breathed deeply before going under again, rose for air then ducked down again, creating as much distance between herself and the wall as she could with each breath. She didn't kick too frantically because, as she was well aware, only a lunatic would willingly jump in after her because it was freeeeeezzzziiing. Nobody would jump in after her. There would be no motivation to do so because, since she was completely immersed in water, the SD card would be useless to them.

Or so they thought.

An agonisingly bone-chilling swim later, Kelly Jones hauled herself up and out of the Thames, collapsing onto the pavement. Swearing to never ever do that again, she spluttered, the SD card falling into the palm of her hand. Coughing and spitting, she longed for coffee to banish the taste it had left in her mouth. Her body trembled uncontrollably. She knew she couldn't lie there for long otherwise hypothermia could set in. It was a long walk to the Tower to return the SD card. Stumbling after taking a few steps, she knew she would not make it that far. Her apartment was closer. She'd have to get there. Delivering the device and checking in would have to wait.

Thump, thump, footsteps pound on pavement. Vaguely familiar streets; hadn't she just been here? She dreamt of being chased by motorbikes and flinched as a huge bang assaulted her ears. In the middle of the alleyway she was running down appeared a door. Just the door, not the walls it was attached to, just the door hanging slightly in mid-air shaking slightly as something on the other side banged on it. It dimly resembled the door to her apartment.

The door banged loudly and Kelly jolted awake. The photograph grinned down on her. Rubbing at her eyes, she glanced at the time. It's not even 5 in the morning.

Thump, thump. The noise made her wince. She considered the date and groaned. I was supposed to drop the rent money off before work. How did I forget? She rose, donned a jacket over her singlet top to make herself presentable and began digging through her draws for an envelope with the rent.

Thump, thump.

"Alright, alright!" she yelled. "Keep your hair on! I'm coming!"

You've picked the wrong person to wake before the sun rises, she thought as she found the envelope and approached the door. I'm going to do something terrible to your tea. I hope you don't mind swapping sugar for chilli and mustard or some wasabi-

She opened the door and found herself shoved backwards by a force that did not belong to the short plump landlady. Her back slammed into the kitchen bench.

"Where is it?" demanded a voice in a menacing whisper.

Kelly couldn't have answered if she'd tried. All air had left her lungs and she struggled for breath. Her vision swam. She clawed at the forearm pressed against her throat. Two figures were rummaging through her desk drawers, flinging papers, folders and stationary everywhere. Everything snapped back into focus as a hand made contact with her face. Her brain, unable to cope with the lack of oxygen, handed the controls over to her survival instincts. Racking her fingernails into her assailant's arm caused the arm to slacken and partially free her throat. She gasped for breath but was thrown against the bench again before she could escape their grip. The room swam once more. Her eyes were determined to close.

Her legs refused to support her weight as she was hauled upright. "I said, where is it?"

Barely coherent, Kelly tried to focus on the face in front of her but her eyes were drawn to the objects being hurled across the room. "Got it!" declared another voice.

Her assailant let her stumble to the floor and turned. Cigarette smoke wafted into the room as someone behind them lit up. Glowing cinders on her desk indicated it was not their first. Kelly cringed as the glowing end was stabbed at the pile of papers scattered haphazardly on the floor.

"Cut it out," ordered the one who'd grabbed her. "Take what you want and let's go."

Kelly remained where she had fallen and, as shameful as it was, feigned unconsciousness. Not that she was far off it as she had to dig her fingernails into the palms of her hands to keep herself from blacking out. The ringing in her ears had lessened by the time they had grabbed her laptop, wallet and some jewellery. Sensing they were almost done raiding her apartment, she risked opening her eyes to steal glances at their faces, trying to commit them to memory. She wriggled her toes. The tingling of pins and needles concreted her conclusion that she would not be able to give chase. They were going to get away.

One of the three assailants, the one with the cigarettes, was determined to burn as much as he possibly could. All the papers from her desk drawers and folders and a few books fell victim before someone stopped him from setting the curtains and mattress on fire. "They won't investigate a break-in but they will if ya set the place on fire."

The pyromaniac, disappointed, resumed his search for paper. He dumped a pile of books into the kitchen and set that alight. Kelly knew she'd never get the smell of smoke out of the apartment, nor the mark off the ceiling. To her relief, they had not discovered the backpack hidden under the wooden planks of the bed. Just as well, she thought. Several hundred pounds worth of equipment in there and it was her emergency pack. Everything she needed to walk away and never look back was in there. Once they cleared out, she'd grab it and walk out. She couldn't help but peer mournfully at the coffee machine. I can't take you with me, she thought, but you've been a lifesaver. I'll have to track another of your model down.

She had forgotten that she had removed an item from her pack when she had first moved into the apartment until she saw it fly across the room. The item, silvery-grey in colour, landed in the kitchen with a clunk and a wince from Kelly. Uh-oh. The pyromaniac better not set that on fire…

The trio started lugging their spoils out of the room. The pyromaniac was the last to leave and glanced behind him to check the others were already making their way down the stairs. Oh no you don't, thought Kelly but she only managed to rise onto her haunches when he flicked the lighter open onto the paper pile. With a gleeful smile he raced out the door. Kelly crawled over to the burning mass and shoved it away from the coffee machine and the grey object. Unable to reach the fire blanket, she tore off her jacket and threw it over the flames. The fire, greedily burning, refused to die. Already it was spreading to the other scattered papers and dangerously close to the grey canister of extremely combustible materials.

Instinct told her to get out so she obeyed. She shoved the mattress aside and retrieved the backpack. A thought spurred her into clambering onto the bed and reaching up, pulling things off the corkboard frantically. The photograph clutched in her hand, she glanced back at the kitchen, checking how close the fire was to the can.

A hiss reached her ears.

Out, she thought as she threw herself towards the door, pulling the backpack behind her. Out, out, out, out! She yanked the pack when it got caught in the doorway and tumbled backwards when it came free. She rolled down the stairs and slammed into the wall at the bottom of the stairwell. A mighty boom rang out as the canister caught alight. Glass shattered and the stairway sheltered her from being burnt in the spray of boiling hot coffee.

Kelly panted as her heart raced. Legs shaking, she struggled to her feet and pulled the pack on. She took deep breaths as she made her way down the stairs, leaving her charred and burning apartment and everything inside behind. Cool, calm, collected and emotionless, she repeated to herself over and over in her head. She paused in the foyer and ran her hands through her hair. There was little else she could do to preserve her dignity as she stepped out into the night, bare footed in a tank-top and bike pants.