Onyx City (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

it might come in handy during your plumbing of the depths of the East End.”
    “I can assure you that my aim is as true as ever.”
    “Well it’s just a good idea for you both to fire off a few rounds side by side. Develops a bond, you know.”
    “Will I be getting another Colt Starblazer?”
    Morton sucked air in between his teeth. “Not really inconspicuous is it, a shiny new model like that? No, I think we’ll give you something older, perhaps military issue. Firearms are certainly not uncommon in the circles you will be moving in, but you need something that rings true to your cover story.”
    “And that is?”
    “Ex-soldier. Fought in the Soudan but was injured. Now you’re just looking for good honest work. Strong man, good with your hands. Warehouse work, that sort of thing. Those are the places that these socialist groups tend to spring from. No family in London but a sister in Kent.”
    They entered a large cellar with brick arches on either side. Several scientific-looking men in frock coats were dwarfed by perhaps the largest man Lazarus had ever seen. His rough flannel jacket strained against bulging shoulders that started a good foot above the head of the tallest scientist present. A tattered waistcoat met sagging grey trousers patched at the knees. A flat cap was jammed on his head; a head which was the most remarkable thing about him, for no part of his face was visible. Instead, a mask of tin or some other metal had been fashioned into the likeness of a square-jawed mug complete with eyeholes, nostrils and a black oval between open lips, into which the man kept jamming the end of a fat cigar before exhaling blasts of smoke.
    “Lazarus, meet your colleague for the duration of the case. His real name is withheld for reasons of security but the chaps down here call him Mr. Clumps.”
    “H... how do you do?” Lazarus stammered, holding out his hand to the imposing figure.
    The man grasped it in a gloved fist, but his grip was surprisingly gentle as he shook it. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Longman,” said the voice behind the mask. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
    Well, he was polite enough, that was something at least. Lazarus was put in mind of an oversized simpleton from a Dickens novel, but couldn’t remember which one.
    “Poor Mr. Clumps here suffers from phossy jaw after working for many years manufacturing warning flares for the navy,” Morton explained. “His face is ruined by the exposure to white phosphorus, and he feels the need to hide it for the sake of decency. Now, I’d like you both to get reacquainted with the firearms in our arsenal. The rifle range is just through those doors there.”
    They went through the double doors and Lazarus immediately knew how Mr. Clumps had got his name. His wide, flat feet were encased in what could only be custom-made boots, thudding down with resounding ‘clumps’ that reverberated throughout the cellar. He walked with a shuffling, lopsided gait that reminded Lazarus of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. In the room beyond, they found targets set up and a table with an array of pistols and boxes of ammunition.
    Lazarus spotted a Colt Peacemaker, a Smith and Wesson Model 3 Russian (Katarina’s gun of choice...), a British Bulldog pocket revolver, a Webley Mk I and his own preferred Enfield Mark II. He picked up the Peacemaker first, being the forerunner to the state of the art Starblazer. He loaded cartridges into the cylinder, leaving one chamber empty, and fired them off in quick succession at his target.
    The cracks of the rounds echoed along the length of the range. Splinters of wood and shredded paper that had been plastered to the target drifted in the wake of the shots. The smell of gun smoke brought back memories of bloody warfare in the African grasslands, and the stink of intrigue and clandestine killings from his work with the bureau.
    “Top marks, Longman,” said Morton, taking his fingers out of his ears.