Simon Green - The Man with the Golden Torc

"I am wise," I said, "and know many things. And I shall be perfectly polite to Sebastian. Right up to the point where he refuses to tell me something I need to know, and then I will bounce him off the nearest wall until his eyes change colour. I really feel like beating the snot out of someone obnoxious. It’s been that kind of a day. Is any of this going to be a problem for you?"

"Hell," said Molly. "I’ll hold his arms while you hit him."

Sebastian turned out to have a magnificently appointed second-floor apartment over a very refined and upmarket antiques shop called Time Past. I took a quick peek through the window. The shop was full of those delicate kinds of items where, if you have to ask the price, you definitely can’t afford them. Molly peered over my shoulder, sniffed dismissively at the lot, and then rang the bell beside the discreet side door. There was a name card beside the bell, and it wasn’t anything like Sebastian Drood. After a lengthy pause, while Sebastian checked us out in some unobtrusive and probably highly arcane manner, the side door swung open before us. Inside was a narrow set of stairs leading up. Narrow enough to ensure that anyone ascending to Sebastian’s lair could only do so in single file. Good defensive thinking. Molly went first. I followed after, sneering at the terribly passé hunting prints on the wall.

The stairs ended in another door, solid oak barred with cold iron and silver. It opened by itself as Molly and I approached, and we filed through into the gorgeously laid-out apartment beyond. Sebastian was waiting for us. He stood, carefully poised and elegant, in the middle of a bright spacious living room, and waited for us to come to him. Sebastian was tall, handsome, and oh so sophisticated. You could tell. He’d put a lot of effort into making sure you could tell. He had to be in his late sixties, but his hair was still jet-black, and his face had a certain taut look to it that spoke of frequent face lifts and regular Botox injections. He had cold blue eyes and a smile that came and went so quickly it meant nothing at all. He wore a white roll-necked pullover above casually expensive slacks with the kind of handmade shoes you have to take out a second mortgage to pay for. The roll neck hid the gold collar around his throat, but I could tell it was there.

"Molly! Eddie!" he said in the kind of deep rich voice you only get by practicing, probably in front of a mirror. "Do come in. Delighted to see you both."

He shook us both firmly by the hand but didn’t sit down or invite us to. It seemed we weren’t expected to stay that long. Sebastian produced an antique silver snuffbox from his pocket and opened it with a flourish. A hidden mechanism played a tinkly version of "The British Grenadiers" while Sebastian tapped out two small mounds of dark powdered tobacco onto the back of his hand and snorted them up one nostril at a time. He then sneezed explosively into a silk handkerchief before putting it and the snuffbox away again. It was a performance designed to impress. If it had been anyone else, I would have applauded.

"That stuff’s worse than coke," said Molly. "You’ll see; one of these days the whole inside of your nose will just drop out."

"I like my vices old-fashioned," said Sebastian, quite unconcerned. "I find the qualities of the past so much more satisfying than those of the present. As you can see…"

He indicated the contents of his apartment with a graceful wave of one long-fingered hand. It was sumptuously appointed, every item of the highest quality. Upon the waxed and polished bare board floor stood antique furnishings from a dozen different periods carefully arranged and presented so the different styles wouldn’t clash. Original paintings on the walls, each carefully illuminated by concealed track lighting. Plus a handful of Victorian pen-and-ink erotica, ranging from the cheerfully vulgar to the actually appalling. There was even a glass and diamond chandelier hanging from the ceiling. And yet for all the effort that had gone into it, I couldn’t help thinking Sebastian’s living room looked more like a showcase than a room where someone actually lived.

"Very nice," said Molly. "Very…you. Is that antiques shop downstairs yours as well?"

"Oh, of course. It makes for very good cover when I want to bring in something new that I’ve just…acquired. I have this delightful young lady who runs the shop for me. Charming little filly. She’s really just a golem with a concealing glamour spell, but the customers never seem to notice. Now then, Eddie; let us talk business."

"Yes," I said. "Let’s."

He looked me over as though I was something he was considering buying, probably against his better judgement. "So; you’re the latest rogue. Old goody-two-shoes Eddie, no less. The whole area’s been full of family looking for you. I’ve hardly dared step outside my flat. I was actually quite shocked when I heard the news. I’d gone to such pains to hide my presence from you, all these years…and now you’re an official disgrace, just like me. Do you know why I left the family, Eddie?"

"No," I said. "But I’m sure you’re about to tell me."

Molly hit me in the ribs with her elbow, but Sebastian didn’t notice. He had a story to tell, and nothing short of an appearance by Death herself was going to stop him.

"The family sent me out into the world to be their agent," he said grandly. "But I decided that I liked the world much more than I liked the family. Never any room in the family for personal ambition or advancement or the acquisition of lovely things. So I just walked away, disappeared behind the scenes, and set about using the torc for my own purposes. To enrich my life and make it so much more comfortable. And I have! I have become quite extraordinarily successful at my chosen profession, and I am one of the most admired professional gentleman thieves in London. It could have been the world, but I do so hate to travel.

"With the help of my armour, I can break into any establishment and walk off with anything I take a fancy to. And I do. Alarms and security mean nothing to me when I’m in my armour. I come and I go, and I take what I will, and no one ever knows anything about it until it’s far too late. Scotland Yard, baffled again! I have the very best antique furniture, everything from a Louis Quinze chair to a Hepplewhite sideboard. Famous paintings, in their original frames! Whatever catches my eye. Nothing is safe from me.

"You know how I track it all down? I simply make it my business to patronise all the best auctions and make a note of who buys what. There are those who hide behind anonymous bids, but auction house security is a joke to such as us, Eddie. All the lovely things in this flat originally belonged to someone else who couldn’t hold on to them. Probably didn’t appreciate them, anyway. Not nearly as much as I do. I’m sure the pretty things are all much happier here, with me."

"Wait just a minute!" Molly stalked over to a side table and snatched up a stylised statuette of a black cat. "This is mine, you bastard! I always wondered what happened to it…This is the Manx Cat of Bubastis! I went through all manner of hells to get my hand on this, and then it just disappeared from my old place four years ago!"

"Really?" said Sebastian airily. "I honestly don’t remember where I acquired that particular piece."

"It’s mine!" said Molly dangerously.

"It’s only yours if you can hang on to it, Molly dear. But if you’re going to make such a fuss about it…"

"This leaves here with me," said Molly, striding back to my side with the Manx Cat firmly in her grasp. "And if I hear one word of objection from you, Sebastian, I’ll rip your nipples off."

"Dear Molly," said Sebastian. "Gracious as ever."

"I thought we were going to be polite," I said, amused.