There is nothing in the boxes that can prove anything, I tell myself, as I head to the armourers.
At best, in ‘Dan stuff’, there will be a mug, a Pot Noodle sachet or two, maybe a spare shirt. Maybe there will also be fingerprints. But they already have those. And Ally doesn’t, nor her flat. I was careful of that. But the box will not have hair follicles or semen in. I do not collect that at my work place. Therefore it is unimportant, I tell myself.
I do not know what ‘Dan docs’ is. I suspect it is not collected Post-its with doodles on them. I am pretty sure somebody would have thrown them in the bin. Maybe it is all the forms I have filled in over the years – or just the ones since The Accident, when they went through all our forms. So again, there is nothing they can find there.
It is more the fact that they want the boxes that bothers me.
If they find me out, they find me out. They will catch Luke too.
But they mustn’t do it before my brilliance. My brilliance that will emerge in book four. I can write that from wherever they take me. Plenty of time again, like in Feltham. But I cannot do my research from there. I cannot make Luke complete. I must do that now, while there is time.
I was pleased to find the armourers is just round the corner from the car rental shop. Also, that it is actually called an armourers. Not a foil shop. Much grander, much more relevant. Because I need my armour. A lobster has an exoskeleton, but I do not, and nor does Luke. We need protection (and thankfully, smart Luke used protection, with Ally). Sometimes attack is the best form of defence, too. I will need to remember that.
The website showed me pictures of foils, épées and sabres. The foil is the most classical weapon – like a duelling sword. That was the one I wanted first. But it is too flimsy. I might as well try to fight with my violin bow. I am torn between an épée and a sabre. An épée is more romantic, leaner. But the sabre uses the side of its blade. It is heavier. More like a weapon.
I pick up one of the display sabres and weigh it in my hands. Yes, this feels right. It is not very sharp, but with enough force, it will have an impact. And it’s much more feasible for Luke, in the book, if not in life, than just a knife.
En garde! Luke sprang forward in a feint attack, then retreated. He drew his opponent on, prepared to parry, but they missed him. While they were recovering from his false move, he lunged. He struck them – blade, then point, blade, then point – his wrists oscillating behind the hilt of the sabre. He would disengage when he was through, but his opponent wanted this fight, wanted the stab, the blood—
‘Arrêt! Arrêt! Stop!’
A man is shouting at me.
I look up. I have an audience. I don’t know why. All I was doing was feeling a blade. Then I see my feet are in the en garde stance and my sabre is extended. Oh. I see. It was Luke.
‘Sir,’ says the man, his hand on my sabre. ‘I appreciate you wish to get a feel for the blade, but please – we must consider the safety of our customers. I must ask you do put down the sabre.’
I could take this little grey man if I want to. But in the background, in the armoury, I see men with spanners and machines that could crush me. Besides, we are on the same side here. My fight is not with him. It is not really with anyone. I just wish to have a defence against further horseplay, should I need it. And to take an attack position against, or rather an assertive position, for Luke, for closeness, for progress.
‘Sir?’ asks the man.
I disengage.
‘Thank you,’ he says. The small crowd dissipates, until it’s just me and him. ‘I’m assuming you would like to buy? Shall we discuss your requirements?’
I think it is best not to reveal my requirements, so I just tell him I want a sabre and a mask.
‘You already have the jacket and gloves and everything, then?’ he asks me.
I don’t, but he wouldn’t understand my explanation. So I just say yes.
He offers me various bespoking and personalising measures. But my project is already sufficiently bespoke. Anything else would be overkill.
I pay and then I own my sabre and my mask. I am equipped. On the walk to the bank to pay in the settlement cheque, I am tempted to pull out the sabre and examine its shiny heaviness. I could put on the mask, too. Then there’d be no risk of Luke or Dan ever being detected. But I remember that banks are not keen on masked men, so I just carry the tools along with me. My secret. Like the keys, in my pocket.
The keys.
Not in my pocket.
I reach around, every millimetre of my pocket. I pat my leg, my groin, my ankles, both sides. No keys. There is nobody around, and I am wearing boxers. So I take off the trousers and give them a shake. No keys.
That is because, I realise, they were on the box. The box that was in the car rental shop. And is now gone. Perhaps to DC Huhne.