Page 11 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

It was an innocent enough question, but the Rook had worn the same enigmatic look that fateful day in France, when Sidney lay bleeding on the floor of the chapel, Amélie’s torn scarf clutched in his hands. They both knew Sidney had enough experience to recognize regret.

“It was just an impression,” he said. “Your information could be influencing the memory.”

The Rook held his gaze a fraction longer and made another notation in his notebook.

Bishop straightened with a small gasp. “Wait—Mr. Tolliver said something before he died. I thought he was delirious at the time, but I’m quite certain it was German. It sounded like … die Krone?”

The Rook’s eyes sharpened like those of a cat who’d found the cream, and Sidney gritted his teeth. It was a pertinent detail, to be sure, but Bishop was oblivious: The more information she offered, the more she became entangled in the Rook’s web.

“The crown,” the Rook said. “That’s very interesting. And nothing else?”

“No. He was so breathless, I’m surprised I caught that much. Does it mean anything to you?”

“No, but Tolliver loved puzzles and ciphers. There could be all sorts of meanings.” The Rook made a thoughtful hum and closed his notebook. “You’ve both been most helpful, and I appreciate your time.”

Sidney saw the opportunity to leave and pushed back from the table. He would not stand on ceremony waiting for the meeting to conclude with niceties; if needed, he would bolt.

“Of course.” Bishop smiled faintly, gentle lines creasing her brow. “But poor Mr. Tolliver. It’s hard to believe someone in Oxford would commit treason … or murder.”

The Rook hesitated only a second, but his canny expression made the world tilt beneath Sidney. He glanced toward the exit, his right knee jittery, and calculated how quickly he might flee. Only when Bishop furrowed her brow at him, the calculations became infinitely more complicated. He couldn’t just leave her there, alone and unguarded against the Rook’s wiles. A clean departure for them both would be one less thing on his conscience.

Sidney sank back and stifled a groan of annoyance.

With the air of a don in a tutorial, the Rook clasped his knee. “Generally, those who betray their country do so for one of four reasons: They need money, they share ideology, they are being coerced, or they are prompted by their own egos. Anyone might be swayed by the right means, Miss Bishop, preposterous as the idea might seem.” His lips pursed. “Once one line is crossed, it becomes much easier to cross the next.”

Bishop made a small sound of disbelief. “How would an ordinary person even contact the Kremlin?”

“I suppose if one is motivated enough to seek out those avenues, one makes it happen. In this case, we know our informant is passing information through a Russian named Grigor Olenev, who has ties to the Kremlin’s secret police. He runs a bookstore in south Oxford.”

“Then why on earth don’t you do something about him?” Bishop asked. “Aren’t you thus allowing the leak?”

“It’s the cost of doing business,” Sidney said stiffly.

The Rook regarded him with an unreadable air, and Sidney clenched his hands under the table. Did the man remember giving him that same excuse all those years ago in France after everything fell apart? Or was it so often repeated as to become meaningless?

“Mr. Braithwaite is correct,” the Rook said at last. “I’d rather know the channels through which information flows. Remove Grigor Olenev, and we simply create more work for ourselves uncovering his replacement. It’s our job to track down those delivering the information to him.” He paused. “Unfortunately, Mr. Tolliver’s death now leaves my network of eyes with a significant blind spot—one that you two could help rectify.”

The unpleasant feeling coiled inside Sidney twisted harder. Here was the crux of the matter at last.

“Us!” Bishop exclaimed. “Good heavens, why us?”

The Rook tipped his head toward Sidney. “Mr. Braithwaite has field experience on the other side of this gambit. He knows the tactics spies use to evade detection and can thus deduce how best to uncover them.”

Bishop seemed dubious, and Sidney’s cheeks warmed. “I’m out of practice.”

“Nothing you can’t remedy with a modicum of effort.” The Rook dusted his trouser leg with a studied nonchalance that had irritated Sidney in France too. “As for you, Miss Bishop, Mr. Tolliver saw your potential. We occasionally discussed which students might consider working for the Crown’s intelligence agencies after graduation, and he had suggested your name as one to watch. You are skilled at languages and charming people into conversation, which is a potent combination in this line of work.” The Rook coughed delicately. “Not everyone is equally blessed.”

Sidney bristled at what he sensed was a dig at him.

“A job with the Security Service,” Bishop breathed. “Mr. Tolliver thought I have potential?”

“A great deal,” the Rook said. “A small role like this might help you ascertain if it is the sort of work that would interest you one day.”

Bishop made a thoughtful hum, but the sharpness in her eyes told Sidney she was already enthralled with the idea. She wanted to help the Rook now just as badly as he wanted no part of it. He had worked too hard to bury the painful memories after France, to not think about “the cost of doing business.” Real people’s lives hung in the balance sometimes. Like Tolliver. Like Amélie.

Sidney cleared his throat. “That’s all well and good for Miss Bishop, but I’ve already done my part and don’t fancy another bullet in my gut.”

At that, Bishop went still.