The Alembic Valise by John Luxton Read Free Book Online Page B

owned it was moving to a larger facility closer to the school itself, so Dave had bought it and applied to the local council for a change-of-use to convert it to a residence. His application was declined, so he was stuck with it and used it only to store his Ducati. For a while Sophie had used it as studio to paint in, and when she and Joel had been lovers they had spent several passionate afternoons there. A lifetime ago, he thought philosophically.
    High tide was in half an hour, but any current was imperceptible, the river was entering the slack-tide phase; thus allowing him to navigate a straight and true course towards his destination upstream. Pockets of mist were gathering over the slick water and the only sound was the creak and splash of his oars. Hearing the faraway tinkle of celestial music brought him out of his reverie. It was his cell phone ringing from a zipped inner pocket. It was Dave.
    “Hey where are you?”
    “In me boat”, replied Joel.
    “Bit of a change of plan,” Dave said in his most diplomatic voice.
    “Oh no!”
    “Listen I am still at the Gate. It’s Sophie’s lecture tonight and I promised her I would be there. I completely forgot. Have you passed yet?”
    “No, I am just coming up.”
    “Well, moor here for a bit, have a drink. Nobody will know you that you are on a secret mission.”
    “But I am dressed like a ninja assassin.”
    Dave laughed. “See you in a bit then.”
    “OK,” said Joel.
    Lights glowed in every window of the Gate. Joel altered his course and in a few minutes was alongside the mooring platform. He allowed a couple of metres slack in the ropes as the river level dropped quickly once the ebb tide took hold. Climbing the metal ladder he stepped onto the deserted terrace and then realised he was looking straight into the room where Sophie’s talk was taking place. It must have ended because people were standing around drinking and chatting. He saw Dave moving around the room, he looked smashed. Sophie, looking radiant in a blue dress was standing with a tall dread-locked guy. A dozen or so other people milled about. Joel was about to cover the last couple of yards to the warmth of the saloon bar when he froze. There was a man in a grey raincoat crossing the room towards the drinks table. It was Detective Z. His reflex was to step back into the darkness but as he did so his movement must have caught the detective’s eye because for a moment he seemed to be looking directly at Joel. Then his attention returned to the table and picking up what looked like a glass of orange juice he disappeared out of Joel’s field of vision.

    Deacon had recognised him from across the park and followed along the embankment. It was not however his brother Jim he had seen but rather his father’s chauffeur and minder, Seraphim.
    Seraphim Volt had operated with the KLA in Kosovo in the nineties but his military activities had ended when a sniper’s bullet shattered his left knee as he and his comrades were attacking a Serbian police station. That put him in a wheelchair for six months. After his recovery Seraphim had come to the UK to find work as security consultant but had ended up driving limos for a living, until Cuthbert gave him a job.
    He walked briskly despite his slight limp, his shoulders hunched in a leather coat and his hands thrust in his pockets, a carrier bag swinging at his side. Deacon had trouble keeping up. Seraphim passed by the alley leading to the Gate, turned into the side street and got into a car. Deacon went straight up to it and tapped on the glass. Seraphim opened the window looking anything but startled.
    “Get in, you look really cold,” he said.
    The bag Seraphim had been carrying contained a large box of fried chicken and he shared it with Deacon. They sat in silence eating for a while.
    “Mr. Cuthbert and Jim are in there,” Seraphim gestured with a piece of chicken in the direction of the Gate. “At a lecture of some kind, your father will be so