Chapter Text
In front of her was a large table covered in green carpet tiles with groups of trees and low hills dotted about. In the middle of the table were two lines of small figures facing each other.
“My main hobby.” George told her. “Tabletop wargaming -two armies fighting it out; in this case my Early Asiatic Successors against a Marian army of Ancient Rome.”
“Ancient Rome I understand but what is an Asiatic Successor?” Crane asked.
“It was one of the dozen or so armies that resulted from the break-up of Alexander the Great's army after he died.”
Crane stepped into the room and looked closely at the figures. “They're tiny, so detailed. Do you buy them painted?”
“No, I paint them all myself. I took up wargaming when I was at school and have never given it up; painting the figures has often been a relief from the stress of the job, particularly when I became a staff officer and spent most of my time behind a desk in Whitehall.”
“Do you have other armies?”
“Yes, rather a lot.” George said as he walked across to the drawer units that formed one wall of the room, opening some of them as he spoke. “Here we have a couple of later Roman armies, Ancient Britons -all woad and chariots, Normans, English Hundred Years War, some 'Wars of the Roses' armies -both York and Lancaster, some assorted South American armies -Incas and what have you, several English Civil War armies, Seven Years War, Marlborough's armies of the Spanish Succession, Waterloo -both British and Prussian, and then, of course, there's the Second World War.”
“Don't you have a present day British army?” Crane asked.
“No, that would be too close to the day job. I did put a nineteen-fifties army together about twelve years ago but I haven't used it much.”
He turned to Leanne before continuing, “That reminds me, Chris called me this afternoon. He's going to be free next weekend so we might actually get this battle finished.”
The following morning George arrived at his desk early told Percival to be ready for a trip across London later in the morning. It wasn't until well after ten that he was able to set off set off for Shoreditch with Percival. While they were on their way George briefed Percival about the attack on Walbrook and her pub.
“Do you remember what Peter Grant told us about river spirits -Genii Locorum? You need to know that the owner of the pub we are going to is one such spirit, that of the River Walbrook.”
“Do I need to do anything special?”
“No, just be polite and let me do the talking. You know I am seeing Leanne?”
“Yes boss....” Percival said slowly.
“Well, she is the daughter of the spirit of the River Crane.”
“Oh...isn't that the river that runs down the back of your garden?”
“Yes, rather a co-incidence, that.”
When they arrived in Shoreditch the site of the Goat and Crocodile looked like a bomb-site from the Blitz. The pub itself was a pile of rubble, some of which looked decidedly scorched, and a large section of wall was strewn across the far side of the road, partly covering a pair of cars, with police tape surrounding the various areas of devastation. George could see a short woman, dressed in heavy duty cargo shorts and a tee-shirt finished off with industrial boots, arguing with a man dressed in a dark blue suit. As he reached the pair the woman turned away.
“Bunch of bastards!” she said, before seeing the two Army men in front of her. “Sorry, I meant him, not you. What's the point of offering insurance if you aren't going to pay out?”
“Why won't they?”
“He said it was an act of terrorism. Not that it matters to you.”
“Oh, it does -I don't like welshers. Corporal -stay back but listen in.” With that George strode swiftly after the insurance company's man, and caught up with him before he reached his car.
Percival took out his mobile, connected a small cylinder to its base and pointed it at the Brigadier.
“Excuse me, could I have a word?” George said.
The man turned to face him. “Sorry, do you want to speak to me?”
“Yes, I do.” George stopped inched from the man, forcing him to step back, and looked sternly down at him. “What's this about not paying out this lady's insurance claim?”
“Oh, no insurance company covers acts of terrorism.”
“This was no act of terrorism,” George said, standing with his hands on his hips, using his height to dominate the insurance agent. “It was a severe act of aggravated robbery. indeed, the Metropolitan Police are treating it as an act of attempted murder of the young lady you have just been talking to.”
“Ah, we still consider it an act of terrorism you see.”
“Even if I get the General Officer Commanding for the London area to write to you telling you that it was a common criminal act? Or perhaps the Chief Commissioner for the Metropolitan Police? I can do that, you know.”
“That wouldn't change our minds -we have to protect our shareholders.” He said with a rather smug smile.
“I think you'll find that this lady will pursue you through the courts, and I would bank-roll her if needed -I've done that before.”
The man's smile faded, and George continued, “When your company gets seen as never paying out you'll lose your customers. Staff will get laid off. The company might get wound up. Is your pension safe?” George turned back to Wallbrook and his corporal and as he reached them Wallbrook cocked her head to one side.
“This is all very kind but what has it to do with you?”
“Sorry, I haven't introduced myself; I am Brigadier George LeForth and this is Corporal William Percival.”
“So?”
“To use an old fashioned term, I'm dating Crane's daughter Leanne.”
“Ah hello!” Came a voice from across the road. They all turned, and George recognised Lea as she hurried across to them.
“I see you've met the Brigadier.” She said cheerily. “Oh dear, the Faceless man has made a real mess of your pub.”
“Some passers-by have been less charitable -one said he thought it had been improved. Anyway, just who is this Brigadier?”
“He is working with the Nightingale, and yesterday he saved the non-tidal half of the Thames from being poisoned.”
Wallbrook turned to face George and stared at him.