The Inheritance. Simon Tolkien

wasn’t. Just you and me and Carson.’

      ‘I don’t know how he even made corporal,’ said Cade quickly. ‘I should have killed him when he came here before.’

      ‘You couldn’t. Not with the boy watching.’

      ‘No. Maybe not. But I didn’t realize then how persistent he would be,’ said Cade. ‘The best thing would have been not to have got the bastard involved in the first place.’

      ‘There’s no point in going over all that again, John. You thought we needed him at the time, and I agreed with you. We didn’t know how many Germans there would be, and we had to have a lookout. For afterwards.’

      ‘Afterwards,’ repeated Cade bitterly. ‘That’s when I talked about the book. And the cross. Babbling about them like some idiot schoolboy. Making out as if they were the most valuable things in the world. I wouldn’t have said anything if it hadn’t been for the fire.’

      ‘How valuable is the book?’ Ritter’s voice was suddenly much softer than Cade’s. It made Stephen shiver.

      ‘It’s worth money. But no more than some of the other manuscripts here. And that’s not why I wanted it. I needed it because of where I thought it would lead me. But it hasn’t. All it’s done is get me a bullet in the lung and this bastard Carson stalking me. I don’t think he even wants the codex. It’s double Dutch to him, and he couldn’t fence it even if he wanted to. He just wants to hurt me, because he’s got it in his head that I’m the reason he’s poor and unsuccessful. And shabby. God, you should have seen him when he came here the second time, Reg. He looked like a tramp.’

      ‘I wish I had,’ said Ritter. There was no mistaking his meaning.

      There was silence for a moment before Cade spoke again, and then the fretful note was back in his voice.

      ‘You’re sure it’s him, Reg. Nobody else?’

      ‘I know it’s him. There were no witnesses and no survivors. Nobody except him. Look, give me that again.’ There was a sound of paper rustling. Ritter was obviously reading the blackmail letter. ‘Here. Paddington Station’s where you’re supposed to meet him. And he lives just round the corner from there. Or at least he used to. In some dive up above a paper shop. I visited him there once. And seventeen’s probably his lucky number.’

      ‘Was his lucky number.’ Cade laughed. ‘What are you going to do to him, Reg?’

      The sadistic curiosity in his father’s voice was too much for Stephen. Swallowing the bile that had suddenly come up into his throat, he took an involuntary step back from the window. Several twigs had blown down with the leaves from the nearby grove of elm trees earlier in the day, and one broke now with a snap under Stephen’s foot. Inside the room Ritter reacted instantly, pushing back his chair and crossing to the window. But Silas was quicker, pulling his brother down and round the corner of the house into the darkness.

      Less than six feet away from where they were standing, the brothers could sense Ritter at the window peering out into the night.

      ‘What is it?’ asked Cade from inside the room.

      ‘Nothing. Some animal,’ said Ritter. ‘Nobody’s going to get into these grounds any more. We’d hear the alarm if anyone tried.’

      ‘I hope you’re right. So what are you going to do to him?’ Cade repeated his question, once Ritter had come back from the window.

      ‘I’ll deal with him.’

      Just four words, but so full of meaning. Ritter would murder Carson when he found him. Stephen was sure of that. After a hearty breakfast at some local café, he’d go upstairs to Carson’s flat and shoot him full of holes.

      ‘When?’ Cade’s voice was soft now too.

      ‘Soon,’ said Ritter. ‘I’ll leave tomorrow. If there’s anything I need to know, you can send a message to the usual place. But leave it to me. I’ll take care of him. It’ll be a pleasure.’

      The next day, true to his word, Ritter was gone. Stephen didn’t see him leave. He’d been up most of the night, tossing and turning in his bed until he had fallen into an uneasy sleep just as the grey light of the early dawn had started to seep into his room.

      In the far corner, Stephen’s collection of children’s books was carefully arranged on wall-length shelves. Most of them were about heroes. Stephen had known for a fact that his father was a hero for as long as he could remember. It explained why he could not get close to his father, however hard he tried. Heroes lived in their own world, an English version of Mount Olympus, and they couldn’t be expected to worry too much about mundane things like children. People like Stephen’s father had their hands full making discoveries and saving the world. Cade’s coldness had just made his younger son love him even more, and his wholesale rejection of the boy following his wife’s tragic death had done nothing to change Stephen’s inmost feelings.

      Stephen never really knew what he was going to do when he grew up, but it would be something that would change the world. He would follow in his father’s footsteps. Except that now he knew where those footsteps led.

      Stephen felt as if he had lost his hold on everything. His father’s shame was his shame. And yet he could not stand aside and do nothing. He had to make a stand. And for that he needed Silas.

      Dressing quickly, he went in search of his brother and found him eventually, crouched over a tray of developing fluid in a makeshift darkroom that Silas had created in one of the unused cellars under the west wing. And Stephen had to practically force his brother out into the sunlight. He had no intention of discussing inside the confines of the house what they had overheard.

      The brightness of the day did not accord with either brother’s mood. Stephen had torn a piece of green wood from the branch of an oak tree and was using it to behead the stalks of nettle and cow parsley growing in the hedgerows beside the road, while Silas walked with his head hunched over between his shoulders, as if hiding from the sun overhead.

      ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Stephen, angrily swishing his stick from side to side through the still air. ‘He lied to me about everything.’

      ‘What did you expect him to do?’

      ‘I expected him not to have killed those people. In a bloody church too.’

      ‘Well, I’m sorry you couldn’t keep your illusions. That’s part of growing up, I guess.’

      ‘What? Finding out our father’s a mass murderer?’

      ‘He’s not my father.’

      ‘Well, he’s the nearest you’ll ever get to one.’ Stephen paused, regretting his words. ‘Sorry, Silas,’ he went on after a moment. ‘I know it’s not easy being adopted, but it doesn’t mean you haven’t got a responsibility.’

      ‘For what?’

      ‘For saving this man Carson for a start. The sergeant’s already left. But perhaps you didn’t know that.’

      ‘Just because Ritter’s gone doesn’t mean he’s going to kill Carson,’ said Silas doggedly. ‘I don’t recall Ritter saying he was going to do that.’

      ‘Not in so many words. But that’s what he meant. It was clear as a pikestaff. Don’t be so bloody naïve.’

      Silas glanced up, and it seemed like there was a ghost of a smile playing around his thin lips.

      ‘We’ve got to do something,’ said Stephen insistently.

      ‘What?’

      ‘I don’t know. Warn the man. Go to the police. Do something.’

      ‘We don’t know where he is to warn him. And you’d better think carefully before you go to the police.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because of what’ll happen to Dad if