Jonathan Stroud - Lockwood & Co. Book Three - The Hollow Boy

Lockwood hung around long enough to receive congratulations from Ms. Fittes, give Mr. Rotwell a cordial bow, and wink at Inspector Barnes. Then he departed. Before he was out of earshot, he could hear Barnes once again becoming the focus of incessant questions.

One way and another, in fact, things were looking good for Lockwood & Co. And I would certainly have shared the general happy exhaustion—would have been more than satisfied with the endless phone calls, and the flurry of reporters now knocking on our doors—if I hadn’t still been haunted. Not by an actual ghost, but by the memory of one. Its face remained before me. Its words echoed in my ears. When I sat with the others, and still more when I lay on my own in the quiet of my room, I could not escape the vision of the other Lockwood. I could not rid myself of the hollow boy.

CHELSEA OUTBREAK ENDS!

MASS TOMB DISCOVERED UNDER FAMED DEPARTMENT STORE

TRIUMPH FOR COMBINED AGENCY TEAM

FIRST INTERVIEW WITH A. J. LOCKWOOD AND Q. F. KIPPS INSIDE

People across London can sleep more easily in their beds tonight following the discovery of a previously unknown mass grave beneath Aickmere Brothers, the noted department store on the King’s Road. The sealing, removal, and destruction of this unprecedented Cluster Source signals at last the end of the so-called Chelsea outbreak, which conventional DEPRAC teams have long been unable to suppress. Effects have been immediate: in the past few days, recorded disturbances in the district have fallen by 46%, with further decreases expected in the next few days.

Today’s Times of London reveals the full story of how, following three months of terror for the hard-pressed population, a special joint task force, comprising operatives from the Fittes and Lockwood agencies, discovered the ruins of the medieval King’s Prison buried below the Aickmere Brothers building. In a special interview, team leader Anthony Lockwood, Esq., and his close associate, Quill Kipps of the Fittes Agency, discuss how they masterminded their exploration of the necropolis, and the methods used for combating the ferocious Poltergeist that guarded the entrance to the subterranean world.

“We knew it would be dangerous,” Mr. Kipps says, “but with precise preparation and dedicated teamwork, we got there in the end.” For his part, Mr. Lockwood explains that the Poltergeist was not the only Visitor encountered in the tunnels below Chelsea. “More than thirty skeletons were discovered in the central chamber,” he says, “and at times dozens of spirits surrounded us. But were we daunted? No! We’ve shown that, with courage and determination, even the most terrifying Visitor can be faced and overcome.”

Praise for the team has come from the highest quarters. In a rare statement, Fittes Agency chairman, Ms. Penelope Fittes, said: “I’m so proud of my employees. Too often in the past, rivalry between agencies has hampered investigations. I hope this operation is a symbol of the future. When extraordinary companies cooperate, extraordinary results can be achieved.”

Full Lockwood/Kipps Interview: see pages 2–3

King’s Prison “Room of Skeletons” foldable 3-D paper model: see pages 38–39

Aickmere Brothers Fire Sale: Free £10 Voucher Inside! See page 40

And after it all ended, did we return to our old ways of doing things? Were we ever quite the same? Did we go back to going on missions together, just Lockwood, George, and I—simple missions, like dodging ectoplasmic tentacles in attics—before heading home for tea?

There was a feast arranged at Portland Row one afternoon, a few days after events in Chelsea had come to their conclusion. Holly had done most of the organizing, so bowls of olives, salads, whole-wheat ciabatta bread, and plates of interestingly limp cold cuts were very much in evidence. Fortunately, at the last minute George made an emergency run to the shops, returning with a supply of cheap sausage rolls, fizzy drinks, and smoky bacon-flavored chips; also a chocolate fudge cake of surpassing size, which he hoisted proudly into the center of the kitchen table.

Holly and George had had a running argument about that table, Holly insisting that our Thinking Cloth, with its mural of scribbles, notes, and grotesque cartoons, looked like the wall of a public lavatory, and would put her off her hummus dips. She wanted it discarded for the occasion and replaced with a crisp white alternative. George refused. Ever since breakfast, he had been working on a diagram on one corner of the cloth, and he didn’t want it moved. In the end, through sheer bespectacled stubbornness, he got his way.

By midafternoon, the kitchen was ready. Every surface groaned with delicacies; the kettle was on; Holly had thrown all the wrappers away. The skull in the jar, which had been making atrocious pop-eyed faces at Holly whenever she turned toward it, causing her to spill two bowls of cashew nuts and one of taramasalata, had been removed upstairs in disgrace. Now in came Lockwood, fresh from numerous phone calls in the office, and we all sat down to dine.

He was in good form that day, Lockwood, vibrant with positive energies. I remember him sitting at the head of the table, creating a towering sandwich stuffed with sausage rolls and smoky bacon chips (much to Holly’s horror—to appease her, he balanced a minuscule leaf of parsley on the top) as he spoke about the potential new clients the agency now had. Like the rest of us, his recent injuries were still in evidence—the cut on his forehead, his grazed cheek, his bruises, the weariness stamped beneath his eyes—yet somehow all they did was serve to highlight his vigor and vitality.

George was happy too, making last-minute tweaks to the complicated diagram on the cloth before him, while at the same time demolishing plateloads of miniature Scotch eggs. He made a spirited early play to sample the chocolate fudge cake, too, but Lockwood decreed that this should be left to the end.

As for Holly, she was back in her smooth and flawless groove once more, smiling benignly at the goings-on while remaining slightly detached from it all. At George’s behest, she unbent enough to try a single small Scotch egg; mainly, though, she stuck to sparkling spring water and a walnut, raisin, and goat cheese salad. In a funny sort of way I was pleased she kept her standards up. It was somehow reassuring.

Me? Yes, I was there. I ate and drank and joined in with the others, though inwardly I was far away. After a while we looked (again) at the day’s newspapers, which Holly had left folded beside Lockwood’s plate.

“Every time I see this coverage,” Lockwood said, “I can’t believe our luck. When you combine this with what happened on the Strand, we’ve dominated the papers for more than a week.”

Holly nodded. “The phone’s been ringing nonstop,” she said. “Everyone wants Lockwood and Co. You’re going to have to make some decisions about expanding.”

“I need some advice about that.” Lockwood took a spear of cucumber and stuck it thoughtfully in the dip. “Actually, I’m seeing Penelope Fittes next week. She wants me to come in for an informal breakfast meeting. More of a thanks for the carnival thing than anything, I suppose, but still…I could ask her.” He grinned. “Did you read the bit where she called us a ‘top agency’?”

“And what about Inspector Barnes’s quote?” George added. “What was it again? ‘A group of talented young agents that I’m proud to oversee.’ Can you believe his nerve?”