47

Monday, June 21, cont.

At sunset, the weary custodian went to the basement as always to throw the main power switch for the building. As before, he was greeted with light, but this time the light was provided by a brief cascade of sparks before full darkness returned.

“Bloody electricians!” He snarled. “The choirmaster’ll have my ’ead if he can’t ’ave a final run through tonight.”

He stomped over to his desk in a corner of the basement and rummaged through the bills and invoices until he found the bill from the blasted man who’d said everything was fine. He grabbed the form, scribbled down the address, and headed off after leaving word with his wife where he’d be.

The streetlights were flickering on as the old man stormed down the street toward the electrician’s shop. Herman had managed to loiter in an alley just around the corner. The shop had closed a half hour ago, so Herman had to time the next bit just right. As soon as he recognized the custodian approaching, Herman slipped to the entrance with the rifle’s case and bent over the door as though locking it.

“Oy! You there! Mister Bloody Everything’s Fine!”

Herman stood and looked around as though startled. “Ah, Mister Connery! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I was nearly glowing like a light bulb meself tonight, thanks to you! There ain’t no light in the school, and I need you to come with me right now or I’m out of a job, all because of you!”

Herman sighed. “It’s my son’s birthday tonight. Can’t I come round in the morning?”

“Are you listening to me, man? Tomorrow’s the Jubilee. I need lights tonight. Now! If you don’t come with me, I’ll make sure your name is well known as an incompetent ass.”

“All right, all right,” Herman said. He hefted his case. “The sooner we start, the sooner it’s done. Let’s go.”

The switch had performed perfectly. The custodian left Herman alone, grumbling as he left to see to the multitude of tasks awaiting him. The short was disconnected quickly, then Herman carefully constructed an elaborate coil of wires that appeared connected to the main switch but in reality had no purpose, nor any power flowing through it.

He finished just as the custodian came back down to check on his progress. Herman waited until the man was at the bottom of the stairs before throwing the switch. He wiped his hands on a greasy rag as the lights came on throughout the building.

“About bloody time!” the custodian thundered. “Don’t expect to be paid for this. ’Twas your incompetence that caused this in the first place.”

Herman shrugged. “Do as you like. This is a temporary fix. I’ll need to come back in the morning to make it permanent.”

“Why can’t you do that now?”

“I need more wire and some tools I don’t have with me. No charge. I’ve my reputation to uphold.”

Mr. Connery’s scowl faded away when Herman said, “No charge.” “Very well. Be here at seven tomorrow morning. Sharpish. Understand?”

“I do.” Herman said. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be off.”

“Good night, then. Don’t forget!”

“Not for the world.”

Herman felt bone weary as he approached the Underground station. As he passed the city parks, he noted families laying out blankets on the ground and preparing pallets for the night. Thousands of the Queen’s loyal subjects would brave the weather that night, which threatened rain, to assure themselves a proper view of the following day’s spectacle. Herman shook his head at the love these sensible-appearing people had for an old woman whom they would never meet in person. He had no affection for either the Tsar or the Kaiser, so their love for this aged symbol of their oppressors was beyond him.

Herman noted the moon becoming dimmer as clouds gathered outside. Be my luck if a providence I don’t believe in saved a monarch I came to kill.

There was nothing he could do about it, however. He made the last train to Kensington and nodded to the clerk as he entered the lobby, careful to look for any signs of suspicion. The man returned his nod and went about his business. One more night, and then I’ll be the most hated man in the British Empire. It struck Herman how much his life would change tomorrow. What kind of life can I give Immanuel after this? He trudged to his room, reached into his waistcoat, and stared at the picture of Astrid and their son long into the night.