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19

Clarendon Palace, the ancient and picturesque Creighton-Ward hunting lodge-

A number of hasty calls had been placed and arrangements made, with all the speed that Penny could muster. After all, what they chiefly needed was time.

It was early morning when a swarm of GDF drones and airships descended upon the estate and its park-like, well maintained wood. Dropping from the grey, pre-dawn sky with that rumbling hum one associates with extraterrestrial invasion fleets, five Stingray-class troop carriers and a cloud of seeker-drones surrounded the slumbering lodge. Most landed outside of its high stone walls. One, however, settled directly into the courtyard. There was another vehicle there, already; a sleek and sporty red aircar, of the sort favoured by wealthy young men (or balding and desperate older ones).

The big, grey troop carrier landed; hovering in place, rather than touching those ancient slate flagstones. A ramp whirred from the vehicle's undercarriage, allowing a tall, grim-faced woman to step forth and descend. Colonel Casey, it was; flanked by a squad of armed GDF troopers. She wore a razor-creased blue and white dress uniform, while her crew were kitted for work in basic army green.

"Have your men check the buildings, grounds and stables," she said to the ranking trooper, who saluted her crisply, barked,

"Yes, Ma'am!" and began calling orders.

Casey acknowledged the man's salute, then sighed. Frowned up at the house for a moment, tugging her uniform into better shape. As there was no sense putting off the inevitable, she stalked across the courtyard to the hunting lodge's big, carved double doors, which crowned the top of a flight of graceful stone steps. No lights, no noise, no smoke, nor did anyone come forth to greet her.

"Hard way it is, then," the officer muttered.

She was not comfortable in this place, for excessive wealth and privilege had always depressed her. Nevertheless, as her troops fanned out to explore the estate and its sprawling game park, the colonel squared her shoulders and trudged up those pink marble stairs. They were dewy-wet and flecked with damp autumn leaves, hedged on both sides by a curving stone balustrade. There were tall, ornate iron posts set at intervals, meant to hold torches. Ridiculous, she thought.

Like their lands, homes, wealth and title, the Creighton-Wards were considered a sort of "scheduled monument", and not to be molested in any way. This made what should have been a basic search-and-seizure operation into a grade-one headache.

There was no ID scanner or camera at the entry, of course. Clarendon was actually forbidden to be altered or modernised. So, Colonel Casey simply knocked; a hard, authoritative rat-tat-tat. The sound did not boom out as she would have liked. Rather, it clattered, as if she'd dropped an old wooden pencil. There was no response from within.

Scowling, the dark-haired woman stepped forward and knocked again, really hammering, this time.

"Open up!" she called out. "This is Colonel Casey, of the Global Defense Force, and I have a warrant to search these premises!"

She heard a loud, belling howl from within, and then something scuffing at the other side of the door. Took an involuntary step backward, as… if the source of that howl matched it for size and ferocity… she did not wish to confront that canine monstrosity.

One of those broad wooden doors, the left, creaked open a bit, revealing a blinking, sleepy face and a huge, straining black dog. Colonel Casey took another step back, as her escort brought up their tasers and 'peace keepers'. Then, someone said,

"Fotheringay, you old scoundrel, about dashed… hullo, who's that?"

The face belonged to a slim, handsome young fellow of about twenty-three, wearing paisley silk pajamas, with a claret-coloured wool robe slung carelessly over his shoulders. He had limp, pale brown hair and very clear blue eyes behind a pair of old-fashioned, wire framed glasses.

"Down, Scout! Down, I say! Confounded hound of the Baskervilles…!"

As the young man struggled to control his dog, who looked as though it ought to have had two more heads and a spiked iron collar or three, Casey repeated,

"I have a warrant to search these premises, Sir. Please step aside."

The fellow blinked at her mildly, seeming still half-asleep.

"Not Fotheringay at all. Late again, blast the rogue! But, where are my manners? Come in, Sergeant, come in!"

"It's Colonel Casey," she corrected him, trying not to sound as edgy and uncomfortable as she felt. With the sun just sending a few tentative spears over the horizon, Casey half-turned her head and said, "Follow me."

Now, the young man peered at her over his spectacle rims, hauling that drooling black monster back by its wide leather collar.

"Of course! The director! Do come in, Colonel. I'm afraid there's not much in the way of service and polish, at the moment. Just camping here, what? Was expecting an odd chum or two, for a shooting weekend. Permits on file, I assure you!"

He'd opened the door by this time, executing an endearingly clumsy bow and flourish.

"Welcome to Clarendon Palace. Suppose I'd better introduce myself, what? Clarence Parsifal William Creighton-Ward, at your service, Colonel Casey. Care for a spot of something medicinal? Among my varied talents is a dab-hand at cocktails. Never too early to begin making the world a better place, I always say!"

The dog hadn't budged. Besides being black and shaggy, with cold yellow eyes, its head came up to Casey's chest, and she was not a short woman.

"What… sort of breed is this?" the colonel demanded, edging cautiously past the softly rumbling dog.

Clarence smiled and mussed at its pointed ears.

"Impressive, is he not? Bit of a mistake, aren't you, old chum? But we get on like a house on fire, for all that."

Looking back up at the colonel, he smiled and said,

"As you may know, Colonel, the Clarendon Wood has been declared an ice-age game park, so we've aurochs, Irish elk and forest bison cavorting about the premises, together with the odd saber-toothed cat. No luck fetching in that herd of mastodons I wanted, though… those selfish Siberian chappies won't part with the beasts. Right, then. At any rate… the early attempts at gen-modding a dire wolf produced my friend Scout, here. Not quite up to standard as an ice-age predator, I fear… but just the thing as man's giant best friend, what?"

The massive hell-hound actually wagged its bushy tail and licked Clarence's face. Casey stared.

"Yes, very nice," she managed, at last. "Now, if you don't mind, Lord Clarence…"

"Oh, tosh!" he demurred, waving a negligent hand. "Call me Clarence, please, or C-W. Not the sorts to stand on ceremony, are we, Scout?"

"Clarence, then. As I said, I have a warrant to search these premises, so, if you'll stand aside…"

"Oh, spiffing! A tour!" he enthused, bounding to the entry hall's center, then striking a dramatic pose on the inlaid mosaic tiles. "Ladies and gentlemen, Clarendon Palace is a grade 1 listed building, with parks, gardens and wood comprising several hundred square miles of prime…"

"Thank you, Clarence. That won't be necessary." Casey signaled her team forward. They began moving into the house, carrying scanners and taser weapons. Lifting, prying and poking… but very carefully.

The young nobleman looked dejected, briefly, then brightened once more.

"Cocktail?" he offered, turning toward the shadowy main hall. The fire was banked to embers, now; looking like feral eyes in a forest.

"No, thank you. I'm here to search for two missing people. One was the victim of, and principal witness to, an attempted murder. The other is… a friend, who may be in trouble."

Clarence blinked owlishly.

"Jove, and all of his brats, how exci… erm, dreadful for you. Well, I shall have a drink, at any rate. Find that it stirs up the humours and provokes deep thought."

With that, Clarence Creighton-Ward strolled off to the huge, high-ceilinged main hall, and thence, to a massive wood liquor cabinet. Beginning to mix himself something of paint-stripping, rock-drilling force, he enquired,

"If you don't mind, Colonel… for whom are you searching? Wait, I have it! The ancient relation. Aunt Sylvia, I shouldn't wonder. The old harridan's quite capable of undertaking any crime, to bolster the family coffers. Be happy to give you her address. No…? Then… good heavens, do tell me it isn't old Fotheringay?!"

His blue eyes, so like his sister's, had gone suddenly wide.

"Bit of a rascal, owes the odd sum, here and about, but surely not enough that anyone would attempt to douse the old chap! Topper Fotheringay and I go, as they say, "way back". If he's sailed into tight straits, Colonel, I should be most happy to…"

"No," Casey cut him off, only half listening, as she watched the screen of her data pad. On it, her squad were blue dots, combing the park and house like swarming ants. Not finding anything, either. After a moment, the frustrated officer looked back up at Lord Clarence, who'd plunked himself down in a big wooden chair to nurse his drink; one hand on the head of that monstrous wolf-dog.

"Clarence," she said, trying to smile. "Has your sister been here, recently?"

"Pee-Dee? Not to my knowledge. Rather a town lass, our Pee-Dee. Likes to gad about with the London smart-set. More of a country lad, myself. One ought to know what one stands to inherit, after all. But, I say… Penelope isn't the one you were searching for, is she? I shall become quite fierce, if anything has befallen our Pee-Dee!"

Linda Casey sighed. She couldn't imagine Clarence becoming fierce over anything but a spilt drink, truthfully.

"No, it's just that your sister was seen with the two missing persons, shortly before their disappearance. As such, she's a material witness, and I'd like to find her, as well."

For just a moment, something steel-like flashed in the mild blue eyes of Lord Clarence Creighton-Ward. Then, easing back into his cushioned seat, and calming the wolf-dog, he said,

"Afraid I can't help you, Colonel. Dear Pee-Dee does, as they say, "her own thing". Perhaps you should try Tracy Island? She's quite thick with that Scott fellow, I believe. Not seriously, of course. One does need to keep to one's class."

Casey stiffened, resisting the urge to order His Lordship tased and arrested on suspicion of harbouring fugitives. Still, you couldn't just haul someone up for being an air-headed, drink-sozzled snob.

As it turned out, she found nothing. A complete, comprehensive search of the grounds turned up no more than the young man, his pet dire wolf, a few horses, his sporty red aircar, and a very slept-in bed. He really did have a hunting permit on file, too; for elk and bison.

"The truth is," he admitted conspiratorially, "Old Fotheringay and I don't shoot much. Mostly just potter about with our guns, picking up the odd dropped antlers, don't you know? Quite as good, in my view, and far less fatiguing."

"I'm sure," snapped the colonel, as her luckless troops began trudging back onto their carriers. "Good afternoon, Clarence. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, good show! Please do, Colonel. I should be most charmed to show you about the wood. We might do a bit of angling, if you aren't keen on the hunt."

By this time, Casey's dislike was bordering on the pathological, and she couldn't get away fast enough. His handsome Lordship stood on the stone staircase, waving and calling, as the GDF fleet took to the skies and flew off. Beside him, Scout rumbled ominously.

"Good bye!" shouted Clarence. "Thanks awfully for popping in! Do come again! Any time at all, no need of formalities!"

When the last black dot of a troop carrier had vanished into those low, grey clouds, Clarence gave an elaborate stretch and yawn, then patted Scout's head.

"At ease. There's a good fellow. Why don't we see what we can turn up in the kitchen, eh?" They were still, as far as Clarence was concerned, on show.

The rest of his day therefore consisted in scrounging a meal of ham, eggs and gin, followed by light calisthenics, poetry reading and correspondence. Later, he donned his tweeds and went down to the pond for a bit of practice.

Clarence had brought along an old fowling piece, and he set up a few targets on posts and stumps as he walked his acres; mostly those sniffed at by Scout, who invariably marked them with a long stream of steaming gold piss.

His Lordship seemed to be not much of a marksman; hitting wood and ground as often as he did those orange clay targets. That he was also destroying the tracking and listening devices planted by Casey's men was surely accidental, for Clarence seemed deeply distressed by his own poor aim.

"Blast!" he thundered, after splintering yet another innocent tree trunk. "It's all this bloody drink that's done it, Scout. Swearing off of the stuff tomorrow, I promise you!"

Eventually, the depressed young sprig of nobility returned to the pond. It lay like a steel mirror a few hundred yards from the house; silent, cloud-grey, and dotted with shriveling lily pads. Scout lapped the water, plunging in to his chest, then bounding out for a noisy shake all over His Lordship.

"Wretched animal!" Clarence laughed, trying to duck that shower of icy droplets. "No respect, whatsoever!"

Then, accepting sloppy-wet dog kisses, the nobleman straightened back up, broke and shouldered his shotgun. Casually glancing at the screen of his wrist watch, he turned to the pond and waved, calling,

"All clear!"

Moments later, the water began to hump up and bubble, at mid-pond, just where a shielded hollow doubled its depth. A big, pink Rolls Royce came to the surface, draped in pond weed and mud. Rising on silent impellers, it lifted into the air. Inside the car, Clarence could see Parker, his sister's bodyguard, and three passengers. Four, if one counted Sherbert.

The limousine glided silently over the pond to its tree-shaded eastern bank, where Clarence stood waiting in his tweeds and hunting boots, flask in hand.

"What ho!" he called cheerfully, raising the silver flask in salute. "All well inside, I hope?"

The vehicle's right passenger door opened up, and his sister leaned out, arms extended. Clarence stepped into a warm, tight hug.

"Thank you ever so much, Pester," she whispered, as Bertie squirmed and bounced, attempting to reach Scout.

"Really, now," her brother objected, pulling free. "No call for all that. Just a bit of play-acting, what? Putting those lessons you gave me, to work."

Said Colonel Tracy, reaching past Penny to shake the slim nobleman's hand,

"You may have saved a life, today, Clarence. We're grateful."

Sitting up front, near Parker, was as pretty a young thing as Clarence had recently seen. Looked a bit like his sister, he thought, only not so old and… related. Straightening subtly, and shifting the gun to his other shoulder, His Lordship said,

"No trouble at all, Colonel Tracy. Not quite the same dashing sort as our Pee-Dee… but I do get about a bit, experience the occasional hint of excitement."

Might have made a better impression if he hadn't been dog-sodden and partially drunk. The girl gave him a hesitant smile. Like the others, she did not come out of the car. No sense leaving awkward prints, of people or tyres.

"Thank you, Lord Clarence," said the lissome blonde beauty. "I've heard so much about you."

"Lies, every jot and tittle," he laughed. "Pee-Dee does love to stretch a tale. I'm quite a modest and unassuming chap, I assure you."

Penelope shook her head, drawing her younger brother in for a swift kiss on the cheek.

"No one with that altered brute for a pet can consider themselves the shy and retiring sort. Yes, Scout, auntie's speaking of you. Kissers, nevvy… there's a good lad."

For some reason, the normally fastidious lady had no issue at all with giant, wet dogs. Sherbert, barking excitedly, quite evidently wished to burst forth and play, but Penny restrained him.

"No, Bertie, not today, I'm afraid. We've work yet to do, and mustn't be found here. We shall have playtime with Scout, later, Dearest. I promise you."

"Do be careful, Sis," Clarence urged, stepping away from the hovering car. "The GDF seem quite determined to find you lot."

Penelope snorted.

"Yes, well… fortunately, they are also extremely incompetent. More of a threat to themselves than to us, I'm afraid. Still less so to the Hood, or Chaos Crew."

"Nevertheless, be cautious, and remain alert. I shall stay on for a bit, I think. Fotheringay will no doubt turn up, as I owe him a weekend of shooting, and I might as well play my part to the hilt."

His sister nodded, blew several kisses, and then shut the car door. Scout lunged after the limousine as it glided up and off into the air. Didn't catch it, fortunately, for that gen-mod dire wolf could rip off a tyre, if minded to.

"Down, lad! Down, Scout! Come on, then," said Clarence, turning back to the house. "What about the rest of that ham, and a good book, by the fire?"

The servants had returned from the village, he guessed, seeing a thread of white smoke from the chimney.

"Dear Pee-Dee can look after herself. She's got Bertie along to protect her, after all… and Parker."

So saying, Clarence rubbed the wolf-dog's head, then wandered back up to the house, whistling cheerfully. As for Lady Penelope, already far from the lodge in that fast-rising car, she and her brother had bought them some much-needed time.

Parker glanced at her, using the rearview mirror.

"Just keep the jammin' device in h-operation, shall h-I, Milady?" he asked.

"Indeed, Parker. Let us provide our defence force friends with no further clues as to our whereabouts. So long as we remain in the vehicle, we are quite hidden from detection."

"The question is," Jeff put in, "where to, now?"

"I should like very much to go home," whispered Zara. "My mum is terribly worried, I'm sure."

"And being watched, no doubt," said Penelope. "I am afraid, my dear, that she must remain in suspense a bit longer."

Zara nodded, dashing at her grey eyes with a shaking hand. Gently, Colonel Tracy said,

"Zara, we need to know whatever you can tell us about Chancellor Shaw's plans. Would he attempt to have you killed for what you said to me? And, if not, who did?"

The girl shook her head miserably.

"I don't know, Colonel," she told him, seeming genuinely perplexed. "I… was informed that my services were no longer required, shortly after you left the office. Then, once I'd gone down to the back room for my things… someone took hold and pushed a cloth at my face. I tried to fight them, but was rather easily overcome. I'd been crying, you see, trying to think what to tell mum, and so I wasn't looking out, as I should have been. Then, later, I woke here, in this car, with you, Lady Penelope, and Mister Parker."

Sherbert yipped alertly, causing the girl to hiccup a sudden laugh.

"Yes, and Bertie, as well," she amended, allowing the fat little pug to spring up into her lap and nuzzle her face. "As to the chancellor, Colonel, he has been ordering the construction of specially-shielded cells, below the GDF Tower. Many more than needed for just the Mechanic or the Hood, and surely no regular inmate would require such powerful restraints! I found all this out quite accidentally, when I was attempting to access his schedule, so as to learn who was expected, that day. Sometimes, odd things happen, Colonel Tracy, Milady… I don't know how to explain them."

Jeff nodded, watching the girl bury her face against Sherbert. The chubby pug clearly adored her, and he was a very good judge of character. By this time, Parker had lifted them into the cloudy grey skies between aircar traffic and commercial flight lanes. Now, the driver said,

"H-If you don't mind my askin', Miss, what's your full name? H-I might be able to get word to your mum, quiet-like, through one of me mates, once 'er Ladyship gives the word."

"Oh, would you?!" the girl blurted eagerly, torn between hope and worry. "I'm sure that she'll keep her countenance, and it would mean ever so much! I'm Zara Herringford-Smith, of Stoke Newington. Please, just tell her I'm safe. Only, she does worry so."

Penny caught Jeff's eye, her look very plainly saying: It's quite well in hand, Colonel. Parker will soon find out all there is to know about our young lady.

Very slightly, Jeff nodded. He had nothing but faith in the driver's sleuthing abilities, in this matter, and that of Chancellor Shaw… if only they could reach a safe place, and let him work. Clarence had bought them a few hours' head start. Now, they had to find a way to make the most of it. He had one day left to reach Scotland, and couldn't just leave these three behind him, at risk.