In the kitchen one of the stocky men in black was fussing over a huge brass and glass cafetiere and a fine bone china teapot.

'You guys feel like eating?' he said.

'Always,' said Sorrow, 'but if he’s feeling delicate I’ll wait.'

Number Seven considered lying as he followed her to the clear perspex breakfast table by the French windows. Lying would be the gentlemanly thing to do. But he could guess what the protection team might consider breakfast, and the smell of bacon cooking would make him throw up right now. He just shook his head and sat down opposite Sorrow.

'Let me hear the rest of the bad news before I decide if I can eat.'

'Tea or coffee,' said the man. Seven felt a brief stab of annoyance that he hadn’t noticed the man’s name.

'Coffee. In a big mug. Black and no sugar,' said Sorrow.

The same,' said Seven.

The cafetiere and two large mugs appeared on the breakfast table between them. The man poured himself a mug of tea. He leant back against the kitchen counter and looked from one to the other of them. Seven was sure that he was wondering why they didn’t have that healthy, post-coital glow.

'Can you give us five minutes before sending the others in for tea?' said Sorrow.

'Sure,' he said and found somewhere else to be.

'Number Four broke out of the Beta house. The report, the full report that we have so far, is on your yPhone.' She depressed the plunger on the cafetiere and poured the coffee as he read.

The report seemed thorough enough and was entirely free of redactions. Four had found and disabled the concealed cameras the moment she was left alone in the bedroom. That was a relief. It probably meant that she’d run rather than being taken. He’d assumed that there were cameras in the Alpha House but he hadn’t gone looking for them because the only way to act like you have nothing to conceal is to not know where you have to conceal it from.

When Seven looked back up from the report Sorrow was staring at something on her phone over the top of her coffee mug. Presumably reading the report herself.

'This Justice guy, Is he any good?'

Sorrow very nearly sprayed coffee out of her nose all over the screen of her phone.

'Yes he’s fucking good. It is just possible that, with the element of surprise, in a stand up fight, I could take him. Just. And that’s only ‘cause I’ve worked with him and I know how he thinks. You’d have no chance. You know what a contingency document is, right?'

'The paper detailing the protocol for dealing with a rogue officer? We call it the House Cleaning protocol.'

'Pretty much but ours are all personalised. Like there’s not a general one for everyone. The one for him is 10 pages long. I’ve read it. It’s terrifying. The one we have for you is 3 pages. Mine is 4 and a half but I haven’t read that one, obviously. He is very good but he can be a bit unyielding.'

'He slept on the sofa.' Seven’s voice sounded sharper than he’d intended.

'He was blocking the only way into the bedroom,' said Sorrow.

'Didn’t help. And they found feathers in that bed too.'

'Yeah. I don’t know what to make of that,' said Sorrow.

'Signature?'

'Makes sense. Doesn’t feel right. But what do I know? I mostly just hit things.' Sorrow drained her coffee mug. 'Whoo. This is the good stuff alright. Someone’s been reading my memos.' She paused for a moment with her head tilted to one side as though listening. 'You might want to grab your coffee and brace yourself. Hurricane Cherry approaching.'

'How can you tell?'

'Change in the air pressure. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…' Sorrow pointed to a small door that Seven had assumed must lead to a cellar or a larder cupboard. It burst open and Cherry tumbled through. She straightened up when she saw them.

Seven took a moment to fully absorb the effect of her outfit. This time the wig was a scarlet bob. Her lab coat was open and beneath it she wore a crimson mini dress and a black underbust corset. It probably needed to be under-bust. A corset to fit that bust would have to be built in a shipyard.

'Sorrow, sweetie,' she said. 'And Officer Dee. Such a pleasure to see you again. And so soon.'

'Still not used to that,' said Seven.

'It’s supposed to be less depersonalising,' said Sorrow.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

'I don’t see how an irrelevant syllable is any better than an irrelevant number,' said Seven.

'It’ll be like Doctor John Dee,' said Cherry.

'Elizabeth I’s astrologer?' said Number Seven.

'That’ll be one of those classical educations I keep hearing about,' said Sorrow. 'He was also in her secret service under Walsingham. His code number was 7. I still don’t get why Number Four is Jinx though.'

Seven would have explained but Cherry interrupted him before he’d even started speaking. 'Let's have a look at this bed then?' she said, with a level of enthusiasm that was just short of rubbing her hands and cackling with glee.

#

'Can I have the lights out please?' said Cherry.

'We’ve talked about this,' said Sorrow.

'So I can use the ALS, you tart. This is science.'

Number Seven turned off the overhead light. He couldn’t do anything about the light from the fish tank. There had to be controls for it somewhere but it was a mystery to him.

Cherry scanned the bedding with her UV light. There was nothing, just the deep black of the feathers against the faint blue of the white cotton.

'Have these sheets been changed?' said Cherry.

'Because the first thing I’d do after calling you would be to destroy evidence,' said Sorrow. 'Of course they haven’t been changed.'

Seven could tell where this conversation was going and he edged between the two women. Sorrow was already nearly angry enough to throw herself at Cherry and if that happened, he wanted to be in the middle.

Cherry looked at Sorrow, then at Seven, then at the bed, then back at Sorrow. 'So you guys didn’t…'

'Does that have anything to do with the feathers? Or the disappearance of Officer Jinx? Or the deaths of a civilian and three officers of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service, and the potentially permanent injuries to two others?' said Sorrow.

Her rage made the room seem smaller and darker. As if the building was shrinking in the face of it.

'No. Sorry. I’ll analyse the feathers and get back to you.' Cherry seemed to be trying not to flinch away from Sorrow.

'See yourself out. I’m going down to get some breakfast,' said Sorrow. She stormed down the spiral stairs without waiting for Seven.

Cherry slumped, looking even smaller. She turned toward Seven. 'Officer Dee, I’m sorry for my inappropriate and immature curiosity.'

'Don’t worry about it,' said Seven. He put one arm round Cherry’s narrow shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. 'With my reputation I’ve had plenty of chances to get used to it.'

He headed for the stairs. Behind him he heard Cherry sighing and the rustling of evidence bags.

#

In the kitchen, two of the security team were tucking into bacon rolls and steaming cups of tea while Sergeant Dean cooked more bacon. They stood to attention as Sorrow entered.

'Oh sit down. Do I look like a fucking officer?' she said.

'You do know you’re a Major,' said Sergeant Dean without turning.

'Only technically,' said Sorrow as she refilled her mug. She shrugged into her coat, grabbed a bacon roll from the growing pile and headed for the front door.

She pulled her coat tight around her and sat down on the doorstep. She set the mug down next to her as she ate her roll and stared out at the street.

'What the hell is up with her?' said one of the seated men.

'Haven’t got a clue,' said Sergeant Dean. 'Do you think Goddesses get PMS?'

'I can still hear you, you dick.' Sorrow shouted into the house before turning back to the street.

Sorrow took an angry bite of her bacon roll. She heard Sergeant Dean say, 'She’s sitting on the doorstep.'

She sensed, rather than heard, Number Seven behind her. The man moved like a cat in spite of his height and the weight of muscles that the miracle of expensive tailoring somehow concealed.

'Budge up,' he said.

She picked up the mug and scooted over to make room for him on the step.

He sat down with surprising grace for a tall man holding a full mug in one hand and a roll in the other.

'What’s wrong?' said Seven.

'You know how you were when you found the feathers?' she said. 'That’s how I’m feeling now. Something is fucking with us and I do not like it.'

'Cherry apologised,' he said.

'Good.' Sorrow finished her roll and stared at her coffee. She didn’t like this feeling and she couldn’t quite define it and she liked that even less but she had no intention of moping about it all day. She downed the dregs of the coffee. 'Alright, Secret Agent Man, what’s the plan?'

'You’re in charge.' He said.

'No. I’m in charge of your security. You’re in charge of the investigation.'

'Can we visit Five and Six?' he said.

'I don’t see why not.' Sorrow checked the latest update on her yPhone. 'Number Five is still in a coma and he’s in isolation but you can see Number Six.'

Sorrow stared into the street and tried to quantify her deep unease. Behind her Cherry clattered along the hall back to the kitchen shouting, 'Bedroom’s all yours again,' as she went.

Seven drank the last of his coffee and stood up.

'We leaving?' said Sorrow.

'In a minute,' said Seven as he headed back inside and she heard him on the spiral stair.

Sergeant Dean joined Sorrow on the step. 'What’s really wrong?' he said.

'I don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling about something but I don’t know what it is yet. Feels like waiting for the axe to descend.'

'What do you want us to do once you’re gone?' said the Sergeant.

'Get some rest. Keep the house secure. Have at least one vehicle and a 2-man team ready in case we need an emergency extraction.'

'Stay safe. Don’t let that arsehole get you killed,' said Sergeant Dean and he went back into the house before she could argue with him.

Seven passed him in the doorway.

Sorrow stood up and straightened her coat. 'You can drive. The location is already on your yPhone.'

'Why the power shoulders?' said Seven.

'What are you talking about?' said Sorrow.

'On your coat. The padded shoulders. Why?'

'Because that’s the shape of my coat.' She glared at him and hoped that he had the sense not to bring it up again.