Extraordinaires 1 by Michael Pryor

unconvinced.’
    â€˜Of course. It’s a great deal to take in at once.’ She put her head on one side. Then, with a quick movement, she bridged the gap between the chairs and leaned close, looking into his eyes. ‘Well,’ she declared after a moment that Kingsley found intensely uncomfortable, despite enjoying her scent. He could tell that it was gardenia, with an underlying bed of sandalwood. ‘That’s interesting.’
    â€˜My eyes are interesting?’
    She uncoiled back to her chair and addressed Kipling, who had been watching this exchange closely. ‘I do believe he would have found his way into the Demimonde, come what may. There’s something about him.’
    â€˜There’s something about everyone,’ Kingsley said briskly, doing his best to disengage from the intensity of her interest.
    â€˜And you in particular,’ Kipling said. ‘This only confirms my opinion that you are special.’
    â€˜I’m glad to hear it.’
    â€˜Which is why these sorcerers want you.’
    â€˜Ah. That sort of special.’
    â€˜You’ve heard of the Thuggee cult?’
    â€˜Indian villains and murderers,’ Kingsley said. ‘Everyone knows that.’
    â€˜And everyone knows very little,’ Kipling said. ‘The truth is darker and more ghastly than even the most sensational English newspapers reported.’
    â€˜Death worshippers,’ Evadne breathed. ‘Kali-Durga.’
    â€˜In her aspect of Bhowanee,’ Kipling added.
    A chill reached from the past and stroked Kingsley’s neck. He’d have sworn he’d never heard those names before, but he was gripped by them. ‘You’re saying that these sorcerers of yours are mixed up with the Thuggees?’
    â€˜With the worst of them, a sort of inner circle. The Three Immortals controlled them and sent them on their way, wreaking havoc among the British and among the Indians, slaughtering indiscriminately.’
    â€˜What for?’
    Kipling grimaced. ‘I don’t know. All my sources, all my investigations cannot divine the reason for the reign of terror they created, nor what the worst of the worst they cultivated were actually doing.’
    â€˜But the Thuggees were wiped out,’ Kingsley said. ‘The authorities made sure of it.’
    â€˜India can hide much,’ Kipling said, ‘but that’s not the point. I have friends still out there, still alert. They’ve recently written to me to let me know that the Three have left India.’
    â€˜The Three?’
    â€˜Three immortal sorcerers dedicated to establishing dominion over humanity. I fear that they are here and looking for you, Mr Ward.’

I t was mid-morning when Kipling shepherded them through the door of the Hyde Park police station, the writer having insisted that Kingsley and Evadne catch a few hours’ sleep and eat a proper breakfast before approaching the authorities.
    The rain meant that the front desk was lonely apart from a sergeant. As soon as they entered, he goggled at Evadne and put his mug on the bench in front of him. ‘And what can I do for you, young lady?’ he asked as he brushed at the front of his blue serge. Then he noticed Kipling and Kingsley, who was still dressed in his black tie stage costume. ‘And you, sirs?’ he asked in a tone that Kingsley suspected was very useful in interrogations.
    â€˜Is Superintendent Norris in yet?’ Kipling gave the sergeant his card. ‘I’d like a word with him.’
    The sergeant glanced at the card, then studied it again. ‘He should be here, Mr Kipling. I’ll find him for you.’
    â€˜Norris is an old acquaintance of mine. He’s sure to be able to straighten out the mess you’ve found yourself in, Kingsley,’ Kipling said after the sergeant disappeared past the charge station, where an officer was organising a lumpish fellow who didn’t look at all unhappy