Book 3 - The Spy Who Haunted Me by Simon R. Green Read Free Book Online

Aus, still grinning. “If you’re going to commit the crime of the century, you have to do it with style! History expects it of us! Great affairs must be conducted in a great manner. Someday this could all be a major motion picture . . . Besides, ghosts are always at their weakest around the dawn, when the night is busy becoming day. Everyone knows that.”
    “I didn’t know that,” said the Dancing Fool. He looked at me. “Did you know that, Shaman?”
    “Of course,” I said. “But then, I know everything. Unfortunately . . .”
    “I just knew he was going to say that,” Coffin Jobe said quietly. “Didn’t you all know he was going to say that?”
    “Unfortunately, this is the Tower of London,” I said. “And these are not your everyday ghosts.” I looked at Big Aus. “Great affairs? Hollywood? Crime of the century? What’s so great about killing a few birds?”
    Before anybody could say anything, Coffin Jobe dropped down dead. No warning. His eyes just rolled up in his head, he stopped breathing, and he collapsed, his long body folding up with practiced ease so that he hardly made a sound when he hit the flagstones.
    “You prick!” said Strange Chloe.
    “He does pick his moments,” the Dancing Fool agreed.
    We all gathered around the dead body and looked at each other. The first-aid manual doesn’t cover situations like this. I did wonder whether we should try slapping his cheeks, or calling his name, or pounding on his chest with a fist, but you only had to look at Coffin Jobe to know he was dead and beyond all such encouragements. I’ve buried people who looked less dead than he did. And then Coffin Jobe sucked in a harsh rattling breath, his long arms and legs twitched spasmodically, and his eyes snapped open. He sat up cautiously, shook his head a few times just a bit gingerly, as though he half expected something to rattle, and then he rose to his feet, avoiding all offers of help.
    “Wow,” he said, smiling gently. “What a rush . . .”
    “You get off on being dead!” said Strange Chloe. “Oh, please, Jobe; teach me how to do that!”
    “It isn’t the dying,” he said. “It’s the coming back to life. Oh, yes!” He realised we were all watching him and smiled just a little shamefacedly. “Ah. Sorry about that. So embarrassing.”
    “Are you going to do that again?” said Big Aus.
    “Almost certainly.”
    “I meant, during the job!”
    “Oh, no; I shouldn’t think so. I think it’s all based on stress . . . Are we ready to start now? I’m ready to start.”
    “Damn right,” said the Dancing Fool, scowling unhappily about him. “I feel naked, standing out here in public. I prefer to work from the shadows. I am one with the shadows and the dark.”
    “Never knew an assassin who wasn’t,” I said. “Relax, everyone. You’ve all been covered by my newly acquired device since you got here. No one can see us anymore; not the living, the dead, or the Towers’ defences. We should be able to walk right through them.”
    “Should?” said Strange Chloe. “I really don’t think I am at all comfortable with that word, under the circumstances. I want to hear you being a lot more confident about this before I take one step closer to Traitor’s Gate.”
    “We learn by doing,” I said cheerfully.
    “And if you’re wrong about this?” said the Dancing Fool.
    “Then you get to say I told you so in the few seconds before we are all killed suddenly and horribly in violent ways.”
    “I’ve never liked your sense of humour, Shaman,” said Coffin Jobe.
    “You wound me,” I said. “Come along, children. Destiny awaits. Maybe they’ll get Johnny Depp to play me. The ravens are all inside, tucked up snugly in their lodging house. The Yeomen Warders are on their rounds and at this point are as far from the lodging house as they ever get. Jobe: front and centre. You’re on. Can you See the ghosts?”
    He looked mournfully at Traitor’s Gate, his eyes very big behind the