LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

was simply not the same as it had been formerly. Jolly had been taken from this world in a moment of inattention on his part concerning the nature of his adversary, and it had given Angela reason to pause for reflection. Something like this was enough to turn a girl into a philosopher! Angela had not gone that far, but she was at least reflecting.

      Angela did not the least mourn Jolly, nor was she glad that he was gone; or at least, not yet. She had understood the world with Jolly in it; being without Jolly was to be suddenly faced with uncertainty. Angela had one question, and one question only, in her mind at that moment in time: who was Nicholas Raspero?

      2 PM, Thursday 12 May 1544 A.F.

      Beneath her veneer of calm Angela was apprehensive. As Jolly’s investment, she had been protected; now as a woman who lived alone and who was lusted after by half the men in New Landern she was protected only by a passing comment of a gentleman who did not even have a place in the demi-monde. Much of her apprehension was due to knowing nothing of what was going on; so she sent a note to Tagalong care of the head barman at the Burke Tavern (the said head barman being an unofficial one-man postal office of the demi-monde) telling Tagalong to attend her in Kenina Park at 2 PM the next day. She waited for him there at the appointed time and when he turned up she beckoned him into the carriage and then directed the driver to go up in the air and “do the circuit”, this being a circular voyage around New Landern which flying carriages took for a number of reasons, not all of them reasons that could be discussed openly in polite society. The reason which Angela had in mind, namely that of private discussion with a captive conversationalist who could not depart the scene, was however as common a reason as any that could be openly discussed in polite society.

      ‘So what’s happening, Tagalong?’ Angela asked when they were too high up for Tagalong to jump out of the carriage anymore.

      ‘Well, Jolly’s dead, as you must know,’ Tagalong said, like a chess player opening with one grudging move of a pawn, ‘though you didn’t attend his funeral, did you?’

      ‘No-one told me anything about a funeral,’ Angela responded.

      Tagalong looked at her in surprise. ‘You didn’t get my letter?’ He shook his head. ‘Someone slipped up. Well, what’s there to say about that?’

      ‘Who killed Jolly?’ Angela asked, ignoring Tagalong’s lies.

      Tagalong threw his hands into the air. ‘Well, that’s the mystery, isn’t it? That’s what everyone wants to know. Some people say it was Raspero.’ ‘It is very brave of you, Tagalong,’ Angela said, looking out of the window, ‘to refer to Mr Raspero merely as Raspero. I will be sure to tell Nicholas that when we next meet.’

      Angela was watching Tagalong in a concealed mirror by her side, and so his shadowy look of shock and fear on hearing what she had said did not escape her attention even though she appeared to be looking elsewhere. ‘You have misheard me, Miss Ashton. I most certainly said, “Mr Raspero”, you simply did not hear the Mister part of my phrase. I do hope you are not losing your hearing. That would be most regrettable for the leading actress of New Landern.’

      ‘No, Tagalong,’ Angela said, ‘it is you who misheard me. I did not ask, will you tell me whatever lie first comes to mind? I asked you, who killed Jolly? Answer me, or I will complain to Nicholas, that is Mr Raspero to you, about your disrespect both to him and to me.’

      There was a silence, while Tagalong’s eyes shifted about the carriage like a rat in a maze considering which corridor looked least likely to have a snake in it. ‘Well, all right, Miss Ashton, well, as it happened, well, Pay, Kassie, Pastime and No Tin all threw their discs into Jolly’s throat at the same time. Now you know.’

      ‘Did Jolly fight back?’

      ‘No, not exactly, no, he didn’t exactly fight back as it happened. He was sort of tied up in a chair at the time so fighting back was not, as one might say, an active option.’

      ‘Was he still gagged?’

      Tagalong looked at her warily. He had not said anything about a gag. ‘Yes, very slightly gagged, very slightly, in the sense of being gagged I would have to say yes, he was in a manner of speaking actively restrained in his speaking facilities.’

      ‘So who got all that money?’

      Tagalong looked warier than ever. ‘What money are we talking about, Miss Ashton?’

      ‘The twenty million strada that came out of Jolly’s safe.’

      ‘Ah, that money!’ Tagalong said with a vigorous nod of his head, as if he had been thinking Angela must have meant some other sum of money, ‘Yes, well, that has been apportioned according to merit, station, degree, character, opprobrium, and, one might even add,’ Tagalong added with a slightly hysterical laugh, ‘the camaraderie of the momentary instability of the once dispossessed upon whose fortunes all has changed.’

      ‘Who got what, Tagalong?’

      Tagalong sighed. ‘Pay, Kassie, Pastime and No Tin got twenty percent each —’

      ‘That’s four million.’

      ‘Indeed,’ Tagalong looked at Angela as if impressed by the swift deployment of her numerical abilities, ‘I must say —’

      ‘And the remaining twenty percent?’

      ‘Your humble self,’ Tagalong said with a slight bow, ‘got ten per cent, and the remaining ten per cent went to the remaining warriors of the demi-monde present in the room at the time, but their rewards did not end there, for in return for supporting the successors of Jolly they have gained increased prestige, power, authority and the share of the good life.’

      ‘So who’s running the show now?’

      Tagalong sighed again. ‘This is a matter fraught with implication, innuendo, rivalry, dissent, duplicity, and even a certain —’

      ‘So they’re all at each other’s throats, is that it?’

      ‘In a nutshell, Miss Ashton, such a characterisation does not entirely fail to serve as a temporary fleeting ephemeral description of the current circumstances, but I would not place too much reliance on such a primarily visual —’

      ‘That’s your nutshell? And where’s a squirrel going to hide that?’

      Tagalong paused, as if wondering if this was a joke that he should laugh at, then said, ‘They are not yet all at war with each other, Miss Ashton, if this is what you are asking about.’

      ‘I want the ownership papers of 3/67 Cranston Avenue made over to me,’ Angela said abruptly. ‘I don’t care who does it, or how it’s done, just so long as it’s legal and above board. Jolly owned that apartment, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s mine now.’

      ‘Well, naturally,’ Tagalong said, ‘I am sure that an appropriate —’

      ‘I got nothing of that twenty million!’ Angela screeched. ‘Nothing! You make that apartment over to me or I will go to Mr Nicholas Raspero and complain of my treatment at your hands. I will say that you, Tagalong, compromised my virtue in no uncertain manner, and that Pay, Kassie, Pastime and No Tin have all done likewise, and I will seek justice for my mistreatment at your hands, my grave mistreatment which no lady of honour should countenance. I got nothing of that twenty million, nothing, but I will get the apartment I live in. It’s mine, you hear me? There is one question you want to ask yourself, Mr Tagalong Longman: are you going to give me what I want, or are you going to find Mr Nicholas Raspero walking towards you down the street tomorrow? Because otherwise, Mr Tagalong Longman, you can save yourself time and trouble and just jump out of this flying carriage now!’

      ‘Let us not be hasty!’ Tagalong said placatingly, looking as if he had too many thoughts assaulting his mind all at once to know which way to turn, ‘Naturally, I —’

      ‘Naturally, you say, “yes”, right now! Let’s hear you, Tagalong! Yes, Miss Ashton, the apartment is yours.’

      Tagalong

Скачать книгу