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real terms, made him feel cherished. Secure. I can t help it if you leave me speechless.
With his witty repartee used up for the day, Joel took one of the hairgrips and one of
the bracelets. Asking Kai to put the rest away wherever he had got them from, he cycled
in to the shop. Kai chose to stay behind and attempt to educate himself about Earth via
daytime TV.
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When Joel arrived at Brompton Road, he found an incident waiting for him. Police
had set out cordons around the gallery s door. They lined the pavements in shiny yellow
jackets. Behind them the normal flow of passersby had slowed, as Londoners recognised
a chance for possible fame or entertainment. Crowds had begun to gather.
A middle-aged black policewoman with a gun holstered on her hip stopped Joel as
he tried to turn in to the road. This road s closed, sir. Except for access.
I work just there. He tried not to look with disbelief at the holstered pistol. Was
that thing real? Was she allowed to be out on the streets in uniform wearing one of those?
Some kind of terrorist incident going on, or what? He waved at the gallery, outside which
two burly men in black suits stood, with wires trailing from one ear and sunglasses on
despite the threatening drizzle.
In that case she summoned a red-haired constable do go in. PC Thomas here
will come with you and execute a search.
A search? Joel s mind jumped immediately to Drake, the thin scalpel of the man s
smile and the blade invisible in his hand. Being chased off must have rankled with the
man, and Joel had been waiting ever since for some sort of retribution. He wouldn t have
put it past Drake to have corrupted the local police department, to be using them now
to& do what?
His imagination threw up a dozen different possibilities. Drake had planted bomb-
making equipment in the cellar, taped drugs to the backs of the pictures while Joel slept.
He d informed the police like a concerned citizen, so they could come and find the
devices, and remove Joel for him, allowing Drake to keep his elegantly gloved hands
clean.
Have you got a warrant?
PC Thomas, who had the redhead s milk-and-water complexion, couldn t go any
paler, but his expression suggested that he might if he could. We do, sir. He brought a
folded document out of his top pocket and passed it to Joel. But innocent people don t
usually ask.
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Alex Beecroft
Well, yes, but innocent people are not used to being interrupted at work by armed
police officers. I don t have anything to hide, so what have you got to search for?
Scanning the document and conceding that it looked official enough, Joel gave it
back and rolled up the shutters. Then he took a couple of pieces of mediocre silverwork
out of the window and replaced them with the elvish jewellery. Mrs. R had decorated that
entire section in dark-blue velvet, with lighter blue and green scarves that had been gifts
from her children in happier days. With the iridescent gems catching even the dull grey of
the London morning light, the window was lit up with palest shades of blue, pink and
silver, like the scales of semitransparent fish seen through clear water.
Outside, Joel thought he saw lightning, told himself he must have imagined it. Then,
remembering all the other things he had recently learned to take for granted, he went to
the door to see if Tyrnir had sent some kind of storm creature against him.
Mrs. Ringle met him in the porch, shaking out her umbrella. She looked puzzled, but
delighted. How on earth did you manage this one, dear? Tell them Lady Gaga was
coming, did you?
When he leaned out, the flashbulbs of a dozen cameras went off at once hence his
lightning and from the gallery window there came in return a coruscating blaze of cool
and brilliant light. There were actual crowds now, and Joel could hear them gasp at the
sight. Then down the far end of the road came the rumbling hubbub of distant cheering.
Joel caught Mrs. R by the elbow and gave her a startled look. Maybe she is! Oh my
God, and I haven t washed this T-shirt in three days& What on earth is the press
The cheering broke around the corner like the barrel wave of a falling temple in an
Indiana Jones movie. It was followed almost at once by two motorcycle riders. They were
followed by a small black car, and then a larger one, with a red-and-gold flag flying from
its bonnet and four more armoured motorbikes behind.
It s the Queen! It s the Queen! Mrs. Ringle squealed like a girl at a Justin Bieber
concert. Oh, Joel, what did you do?
The Queen, today in a smart outfit of teal cashmere with mint-green hat and shoes,
was handed out of her car by a flunky. Standing in the middle of the road, in full view of
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Too Many Fairy Princes
crowds and reporters, she raised her eyebrows at Joel, waiting for him to come to her.
When he did, she shook his hand while an electrical storm of flashguns went off all
around them.
Under cover of the crowd s cheering and the shouted questions of the press, she
leaned forward as if graciously asking his name, I hope you ll forgive the little surprise.
My husband s idea, and while his ideas are generally impish, I rather fancied this one. So
this is the shop you spoke about? Will you give me the tour?
Though phrased as a question, it was of course a command. So Joel, still speechless
and bemused and grateful as hell gestured for her to go in. She was preceded by
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