Risk Assessment Read Online Free Page A

sniff the air, she grimaced and indicated a rusted service door. ‘Weevils are as rank as navvies,’ she sighed. ‘And they’re not far from here.’
    They stepped through, Jack carefully drawing his stun gun. Agnes cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘A careful aim is required, Harkness. I don’t wish danger to fall upon the Children of Emo.’ And she made her way cautiously along the corridor.
    All Gwen could smell was rust and piss and damp. It really was horrible. There’d probably have been rats if it hadn’t been for the Weevils. Lower forms of vermin just made themselves elsewhere whenever Weevils were around. Which was about the only positive thing she’d ever managed to discover about them.
    Up ahead was shouting and roaring, and a smell of rotten meat. Lurching out of the darkness were two Weevils. Claws raked at the air as Jack threw himself to one side, firing off his stun gun. A bolt embedded itself uselessly, the cable snicked apart by a slashing forearm. Jack, forced against the brickwork, tried to aim again as the other Weevil closed in, but the snapped cable had tangled the stun gun’s mechanism.
    Somehow, against the roaring and name-calling and screaming, Gwen heard Agnes give an audible tut. And then she calmly aimed her service revolver and fired twice.
    Both Weevils dropped to the ground, dead.
    ‘Weevils bore me,’ Agnes explained.
    The horses thundered through the empty streets, the flickering blue gaslights on the side of the carriage casting fleeting shadows across shuttered warehouses. The carriage was very fast, the horses almost exhausted, but pushed on by a driver completely wrapped up in mufflers. On the side of the carriage, inlaid intricately in expensive walnut marquetry, and, lit dramatically by blue flames, was an elaborate ‘T’.
    Inside sat a man, who looked vaguely travelsick, and a woman, who seemed untroubled by their enormous speed. She sat, intently reading a book by the dancing blue light.
    Suddenly, she stiffened as though something had changed in the air. ‘Bother,’ she breathed.
    An instant later they crashed to a halt, the man falling across her lap. Eyes wide, he began to mumble an apology, but she wasn’t even listening.
    Something was flung into the side of the carriage with a whinnying thump. ‘That’ll be the horses,’ she sighed. There was a scream from above them. ‘And that accounts for the driver.’
    She stood up, instantly dominating the cramped space, and silencing the man with a glance. ‘Weevils, I’m afraid. We’re going to have to fight our way out. Can you master a flare?’
    ‘Why?’ stammered the man.
    For the briefest instant she rested her hands on her hips before regaining her posture. ‘I am going to have to shoot them, and for that I need a distraction, which I am looking to you to provide, otherwise they’ll simply tear off my head when I poke it through the canopy. And a flare will be capital – quite a noise, and the light will improve my aim. It may even summon assistance, although I rather fear we are alone. Now – will you be able to manage to ignite it by yourself?’ She reached into a valise and handed him the flare.
    Around them, the carriage was beginning to rock. The doors rattled and blows started to beat on the toughened glass.
    She sat calmly down on the seat and began to load her gun. The man’s shaking hands fumbled helplessly with matches. Very close outside there came the roar of a hunting beast. She darted an exasperated glare at the man. ‘Here,’ she said, and handed him her gas lighter. ‘Even you can manage with that.’ She took a quick look at her surroundings, and breathed deeply. ‘Now, George Herbert – shall we mount our attack on the count of three? I trust that’s sufficient warning for you.’
    He nodded. She counted and threw open the ceiling flap, loosing off shots. At exactly the same time, the man applied the lighter to the flare.
    It lit up the interior of the cab magnesium white, trailing