‘And just what is Spidermas?’ he asked, ‘other than today?’
‘It’s a festival an old, old friend of mine invented. On the first of December the spiders celebrate because people bring Christmas trees into their homes.’
‘I see. Quaint.’
‘It meant something to us, if no one else, and that was all it needed to do.’
They began walking up the hill towards Covent Garden, and did not talk again until they reached Henrietta Street.
'What does it mean?’ Alderman began. ‘Is she a spy as well? Are we to assume he thinks it is the Russian government that will kill her too, although they deny everything?'
'The police don't know, that’s for sure. He was too weak to talk again. They asked him for the name of the woman but he could only shake his head: either because he didn't know, couldn't, or wouldn't tell them.'
'Those were his exact words? There is another. A woman?'
'Perhaps she is dead already. That's what I've been told.'
'Who's your source?'
'The same as before, reliable, from inside the department. You know I can't tell you.'
'Yes, fine, fine.' Alderman looked down at his feet as they walked.
'So you'll help? I mean, you'll continue paying me for my help?'
'Yes, yes. As long as she's alive, I won't give up. Can you go back to your newspaper and try to find out about her? Try your police source again. We need to know the name of every female Russian spy, of every woman he has ever known. We must keep trying.'
'There’s only a certain amount I can achieve. I think the police know as little as us, and our records at the paper are limited.’
They reached Covent Garden. The square was full of Christmas shoppers. A street performer sang as he juggled.
‘But what will you do?’
‘I will look in to my own sources. Will you meet me back here this afternoon? I’ll call you when.’
‘Yes. Where?’
Alderman pointed up, towards the balcony of the market. ‘There.’
The other man nodded. Alderman reached in to his jacket, pulled out a brown envelope, and handed it over. The other man took it, started walking away, then turned back.
‘Alderman, I will keep accepting your money without hesitation, helping you as you help me, but one day I will ask you the questions you have forbidden me to ask, and I will expect an answer.’
Alderman acknowledged what he said with the slightest nod.
‘And, Happy Spidermas’ he added, ‘whatever it means’, then he turned, heading East back to Farringdon Road, and disappeared amongst the shoppers.
‘It’s a festival an old, old friend of mine invented. On the first of December the spiders celebrate because people bring Christmas trees into their homes.’
‘I see. Quaint.’
‘It meant something to us, if no one else, and that was all it needed to do.’
They began walking up the hill towards Covent Garden, and did not talk again until they reached Henrietta Street.
'What does it mean?’ Alderman began. ‘Is she a spy as well? Are we to assume he thinks it is the Russian government that will kill her too, although they deny everything?'
'The police don't know, that’s for sure. He was too weak to talk again. They asked him for the name of the woman but he could only shake his head: either because he didn't know, couldn't, or wouldn't tell them.'
'Those were his exact words? There is another. A woman?'
'Perhaps she is dead already. That's what I've been told.'
'Who's your source?'
'The same as before, reliable, from inside the department. You know I can't tell you.'
'Yes, fine, fine.' Alderman looked down at his feet as they walked.
'So you'll help? I mean, you'll continue paying me for my help?'
'Yes, yes. As long as she's alive, I won't give up. Can you go back to your newspaper and try to find out about her? Try your police source again. We need to know the name of every female Russian spy, of every woman he has ever known. We must keep trying.'
'There’s only a certain amount I can achieve. I think the police know as little as us, and our records at the paper are limited.’
They reached Covent Garden. The square was full of Christmas shoppers. A street performer sang as he juggled.
‘But what will you do?’
‘I will look in to my own sources. Will you meet me back here this afternoon? I’ll call you when.’
‘Yes. Where?’
Alderman pointed up, towards the balcony of the market. ‘There.’
The other man nodded. Alderman reached in to his jacket, pulled out a brown envelope, and handed it over. The other man took it, started walking away, then turned back.
‘Alderman, I will keep accepting your money without hesitation, helping you as you help me, but one day I will ask you the questions you have forbidden me to ask, and I will expect an answer.’
Alderman acknowledged what he said with the slightest nod.
‘And, Happy Spidermas’ he added, ‘whatever it means’, then he turned, heading East back to Farringdon Road, and disappeared amongst the shoppers.
No comments:
Post a Comment