The telecom on the bedside table beeped. They were almost afraid to answer it. and Francesca used the descrambler Geraint had given her from the security firm. The screen showed Geraint in his flat, smiling on the other end of the line. They could also see a very scared-looking Rani almost pinioned between a burly pair of security guards.

“Got here to find our young friend having her collar squeezed by my highly efficient security people. Fortunately, their guns were mostly set with tranq shots. Well, mostly. Anyway, we’re both safe and we’ll be back before lunch.”

“Where are we going to stay?” Francesca was beginning to run out of clean, smart clothes, and it mattered.

“Talk to you about that when we return. Not over the phone,” he said in mildly reproachful tones before disappearing with a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

It was nearly an hour before Geraint and Rani traipsed into the hotel suite escorted by a pair of hulking security men, They had only one bag apiece, certainly less than Francesca had expected. She had imagined the nobleman would turn up with whole valises stuffed full of the contents of his wall safe, When the security guards retired to a discreet distance, Geraint explained.

“The Savoy wouldn’t like me arriving with certain items, even if they were officially licensed. Think about it; would you allow people to bring serious weapons into a top-class, heavy-security hotel if you were running it?”

She could see the sense in that. “So what’s the plan?”

“Well, Rani needs to be in the Smoke tomorrow night. She’s got contacts to firm up and some advances to dispense. She’s also got a little family trouble. So, we’ll take the limo, pick up the bags I left at my flat, collect whatever you need, and then we take a plane westward.” Serrin and Francesca looked at each other, surprised.

“Time to visit the old ancestral home. I think. As it happens. Transys Neuronet has a facility of sorts just down the road, but if we head for my northern keep we should be as safe as anywhere else in the country. Besides, ever since I told young Rani about it, she’s been really eager to go. You see, she’s never actually seen a field with a cow in it. Can you believe that?”

30

Cwmbran was a pleasant South Wales town, but they didn’t get much opportunity to see it. The Lear-Cessna dumped the group close to the grounds of the forbidding, moated castle keep, and they’d scurried straight in under cover of darkness.

All the way there, Geraint had apologized for the state of the castle; his father brought Japanese and American contacts here, and they liked their authenticity faked. Even with every regulatory system installed, a real castle keep would have been cold, damp, and uncomfortable. This one had been built barely thirty years ago to be as comfortable as possible, right down to the four-poster beds.

Rani didn’t care what the noble was apologizing about; it was all very real to her. She walked along slowly, wide-eyed, reaching out hesitantly to touch the stone walls. It wasn’t simsense, this was the real thing. She felt so good, she just had to hug Geraint.

“This is banging!” she cried out in unabashed joy.

He smiled broadly and put an arm around her, leading her to the dining hall. On the walls of the long room were Welsh heraldic shields, above the fireplace hung a great stuffed hoar’s head, and the almost endless table was set with silver and crystal and had real wooden chairs. To the ork it seemed like a scene from a fairy tale vid.

Serrin, too, was delighted by it all, “Well. Geraint, you’re a class act. It’s no less than I would have expected.”

Even the worldly and cosmopolitan Francesca was plainly impressed. It was a pleasure for Geraint to dim the lights and light the candles.

“Sorry, folks. Not much in the way of wine tonight.” Geraini apologized later just as a livened servant appeared to serve a silver bowl of mulligatawny. Rani slurped at the peppery soup, pleased at its almost-familiar taste. Suddenly self-conscious she looked up guiltily, wondering if ork table manners were out of place here.

Geraint burst out laughing in his seat at the head of the table, but his face was kind and she knew he wasn’t laughing at her. “God, Rani, it’s really good to eat with someone who really enjoys their food and doesn’t put on any fancy airs and graces. I tell you, it’s a bloody relief. There’s more than we can possibly get through in that bowl, so go to it. Keep room for the trout, though. Pierre does fish to perfection.”

Trout. She had eaten them, of course, but she imagined that Geraint’s would be a far cry from those spawned in the huge depolluting sewage farms clustered around the Smoke. Perhaps these fish would even taste of something. A liveried butler was heaping up real wood in the fireplace, then, setting it alight. Good grief, they were burning wood here?

“Oxide converter in the chimney, ladies and gentleman, so we can actually have a real fire tonight,” Geraint explained. Don’t do that too often. Anyway, as I say, not too much alcohol. We've got work to do after this, and plans to make. It’s all beginning to swim into some sort of focus now.”

Friday morning saw Geraint walking with Rani across the meadows within the castle grounds. The abundance of nature so entranced her that he wished it were. spring so that she could see, smell, and gather the daffodils, daisies, buttercups, and other flowers that grew hereabouts. It had taken a dozen years of detox before the first of these had blossomed once more in the land.

“The cows had really frightened her at first. She’d seen them on trid, of course, hut in person they seemed so much bigger than expected, and a whole herd of them was quite scary. It had taken a real effort of will for Rani to walk up and actually touch one. At the hesitant touch of her hand, the Jersey mooed pleasingly. The ork jumped back in alarm, but quickly recovered her poise enough to go back and caress the animal as it chewed on the sparse winter grass. That something so simple could bring an expression of such delight to her face touched Geraint. Too long in that penthouse, Master Geraint, he chided himself silently.

As they strolled down to the farmhouse, he talked over the night’s decisions with her. He hoped he wouldn't seem patronizing, but he wanted to be sure she understood everything.

“Well, Rani, we’re up to fifty-six Mary Kellys now, but we can discard seventeen of them, plus the four you checked. It’s too dangerous for us to go back to London, so it was a good move to have private investigation firms doing the spadework. Every hour of today should bring us more information. We can narrow down the candidates without going anywhere near the threat of danger.”

She nodded, “But what about the others you found in my patch?”

“Yes, three more. If you plan to get back to your contacts tonight, well, that gives you Saturday to check them out. This time we’ve got to get to the girl before the murderers do.”

“The police are really no help?” She actually wanted him to say no. If he’d said yes, it would have made everything an anticlimax, brought an end to all this enjoyment. The police had never done much to protect East Enders in her part of the streets of London, but she’d always believed that powerful rich people controlled the forces of law and order with ease.”

Geraint sighed. “Because of what happened to us the night we met you, going to them would be too much of a risk. Despite all my connections we could still end up in jail ourselves. I gave them the best anonymous tip I could, using a special ID code that should alert them that the information comes from a source to be taken seriously-nobleman, politician, or one of their own. But they won’t do anything about it. Not in time, anyway. And they won’t even be able to check out some of the evidence. For one thing, they’ve got nothing on Catherine Eddowes. Without evidence they won’t act purely on the basis of a tip. But at least we’ve tried.”