Read Online Lazarus Machine, The (A Tweed & Nightingale Adventure): 1 by Paul Crilley - Free Book Online Page A

smoke for cover. Tweed grabbed the rope ladder tightly and held it for the girl to climb up, then he followed after her and collapsed onto the wooden platform. He could hear sirens in the distance.
    Tweed stared up at the roof of the factory, no more than twenty yards above him. Then he rolled over to find the girl peering over the edge.
    “They've gone,” she said. “Ran when they heard the sirens.”
    Tweed nodded and closed his eyes.
    “We should probably stay here for a while,” she said. “I don't really feel like answering the police's questions.”
    “Fine by me,” said Tweed.
    They were both silent for a while. Finally, Tweed sat up and prodded the girl's foot.
    “Have I earned the right to ask your name yet?” Tweed asked. “‘Songbird’ just sounds so… fake .”
    The girl frowned. She stared at Tweed, then sighed. “Fine. My name's Octavia. Octavia Nightingale. My mother…I used to sing her songs. She called me her little songbird. Before…” She trailed off and shook her head sharply so that part of her fringe fell forward to cover her face.
    Tweed waited for her to carry on, but it soon became apparent that she wasn't going to. He leaned forward to try to catch a glimpse of her face, but she turned her head away.
    What had he done? He'd obviously said something to upset her. Should he apologize? Ignore it? He wasn't very good at this kind of thing.
    What would Barnaby do?
    He thought about it, then leaned forward and hesitantly patted her on the head. “There there,” he said awkwardly. Then he added, “Buck up.”
    Octavia turned her head slightly to look at him with a baffled look on her face.
    Then she burst out laughing.
    “What?” said Tweed.
    “ You! Patting me on the head like that. I'm not a dog, you know.”
    “Oh.” Tweed thought about this and nodded. “I see your point. Sorry about that. I'm not very good with other people. Never had a lot of time for socializing. I much preferred reading, really.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I've been told that spending my formative years with my nose buried in a book may have made me a bit…”
    “Odd?” said Octavia.
    “No—”
    “Disturbed?”
    “No—”
    “A bit…mental?”
    “ If you will let me finish. A bit…socially awkward around people I don't know. Which brings me back to the Songbird thing. It's seems that I've offended you somehow. Your mother…did she die?”
    “What? No! At least, I don't think so.” She sighed. “The truth is, I don't know. My mother works for the Times . About a year ago she started looking into the reports that Moriarty had returned to London. He obviously didn't like a reporter snooping around, and one night he and his gang turned up and just…took her away.”
    “Oh,” said Tweed. “I'm sorry. Seems we're in a similar position, you and I.”
    “So it would seem,” said Octavia. “That's what all this Songbird stuff is for. A way to keep my identity hidden. I've been gathering any information I can on Moriarty, hoping I'll stumble onto something. Maybe find out where he's hiding.”
    Tweed nodded thoughtfully. “Octavia Nightingale, I have a proposition for you.”
    “Sorry, I'm not that kind of girl.”
    “What? Oh, I see. Yes, most amusing. No what I want to say is: My father, your mother—both kidnapped by Moriarty and his gang. We can join forces, pool our resources. You can be my assistant and—”
    “I beg your pardon? I'll be no such thing. If anything, you can be my assistant. I'm the one who's spent the last year investigating Moriarty.”
    “And doesn't the fact that you haven't found him yet tell you something? Because it tells me a fresh pair of eyes are needed. Barnaby trained me in logical thinking from a very young age. That's what this situation needs. Logic. Clear-headedness. Not brash emotion, running off willy-nilly after every little lead.”
    Octavia stood up. “You, sir, are a buffoon. I have never ran anywhere ‘willy-nilly.’ Nor do I ever intend