Faust Among Equals by Tom Holt Read Free Book Online Page A

fist. ‘We could do this the hard way, or . . .’
    He paused and reflected. Nah. Why confuse the issue by introducing alternatives?
    â€˜We’ll do this the hard way,’ he said.
    Possession of a warrant card valid in all jurisdictions, temporal as well as geographical, meant that it was no problem whatsoever for Lundqvist to nip backwards and forwards in Time in the pursuit of his enquiries. This was a great help. For one thing, if a suspect sneakily died under interrogation, he could rewind back to the deceased’s last lucid moment and start all over again . . .
    â€˜I’ve never heard of him,’ whimpered the interviewee. ‘Honest.’
    â€˜Listen.’ Lundqvist laid aside the belt and put an arm round the subject’s shoulders. ‘Co-operate, why don’t you? Do yourself a favour.’ He paused and grinned. ‘I have to say that, you know, it’s in the rules. Personally, the less you talk, the more I like it.’ He picked up the belt again and waggled it meaningfully under the subject’s nose.
    â€˜No, but really,’ the subject said. ‘I honestly have never heard that name in my life before. How can I have, for Christ’s sake? He won’t even be born for another seven years . . .’
    Nostradamus paused, and bit his lip.
    â€˜Oh shit,’ he said.
    â€˜Precisely,’ Lundqvist replied. ‘Don’t mind me, though. If you want to persist in fruitless denials for an hour or so, that’s absolutely fine by me.’
    Nostradamus passed the tip of his tongue across his bone-dry lips. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right, I admit, I’ve heard of him. Doesn’t mean to say I know where he is. I mean, I’ve heard of all sorts of people, I’ve heard of Elvis Presley. Doesn’t follow that I know where he’s hiding out.’
    Lundqvist raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’s Elvis Presley?’ he asked.
    Nostradamus shrugged. ‘After your time, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Or before. It gets a bit confusing, sometimes.’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Lundqvist smiled, or at least he drew back his lips to exhibit his teeth, and clenched his fist round the belt. ‘You know, it’s really nice of you to be so brave about this. Most guys just crack up and start talking the moment I’ve tied them to the chair.’ He patted his knuckles against the palm of his other hand. ‘Say this for you, Nos, you’ve got balls. For now, anyway.’
    â€˜Hold on!’ Nostradamus closed his eyes tightly, clenched his eyebrows together and grimaced alarmingly. ‘Something’s coming through, right now.’
    â€˜There’s a coincidence.’
    â€˜I can see . . .’ The prophet began to rock the chair he was tied to backwards and forwards. ‘I can see a man.’
    â€˜Good start.’
    â€˜He’s beating up this other man. He’s got a belt round his knuckles. He’s punching - Ouch!’
    Lundqvist grinned sardonically. ‘Yes?’
    â€˜The man’s just broken his hand,’ Nostradamus replied. ‘God, he’s in real agony, poor devil, rolling about on the floor. Hey, that really does hurt. If only I could see who it is, maybe I could warn . . .’
    He stopped. Lundqvist had taken hold of his ear and was trying to unscrew it.
    â€˜Thanks for the tip,’ he said. ‘Now, try again.’
    Â 
    Well, Lundqvist decided as he washed his hands, it was a start. It was something.
    He examined himself in the mirror, and then stopped for a moment to remove a last splash of something nasty from his left cuff.
    A date, in the late twentieth century. Some rather peculiar events, which could only be explained by reference to (a) the supernatural, (b) the considerably aggrieved, and (c) the extremely childish. Could be; or was it just coincidence?
    Not that Nostradamus was in fact the greatest seer the world had ever known, he reminded himself,