Risk Assessment - By James Goss Page 0,2

‘I mean, we could do that. But I was wondering about a Weevil hunt. There’s a couple out in the sewers.’

Gwen grinned. ‘After all this, yes. That would be so bloody normal.’

‘Normal?’ boomed Jack. He stood over them, smiling. Much like his old self. ‘I never do normal.’

And that’s when the invisible lift above them swung into action.

They all stared up, aghast. They were the only people in Cardiff who knew that if you stepped on a certain slab in a certain way, complicated machinery under the water tower would lower you down into the heart of Torchwood.

But the lift had opened. Rain was pouring in. They all ran forward. For an instant, Gwen had an absurd notion of a startled Japanese tourist, snapping excitedly away as they came down. But the reality was far, far stranger.

All of them stood there, open-mouthed, as the lift revealed its passenger.

Standing on the lift’s stone slab was an elegant woman dressed in elaborate Victorian clothes. She was holding a parasol and a carpet bag, and she had fixed them all with a prim, complacent smile. She appeared unconcerned by the speed of the lift. She just looked completely at ease, like Mary Poppins’ posher sister. In control. She seemed totally at home in the Hub.

Behind her, Gwen heard Jack use a word. It was, she thought, the very last word she’d ever imagine him using. It just didn’t seem like him. But it was short, and rude and surprisingly blunt.

As the lift came to the bottom with a smooth click, the woman . . . no, the lady strode forward, reaching out a gloved hand to Jack.

‘Harkness,’ she said crisply. ‘My compliments on still being here. Am I to take it that you are now in charge?’

Jack nodded. ‘Like a bad penny, ma’am.’ He sounded grim. But also . . . afraid?

The woman looked around her and fixed her eyes on Gwen and Ianto.

‘Well, Captain,’ she said, her voice purring with carefully controlled elocution, ‘are you going to introduce me to your colleagues?’

Jack turned around, face squirming like he had a mouthful of slugs. ‘This . . .’ his voice dried, and he began again, ‘Gwen Cooper. Ianto Jones, may I introduce you to Miss Agnes Havisham?’

Do you know what, thought Gwen to herself, bugger me backwards with a bent pole, now I’ve seen it all.

II

BLEEDING HEART

YARD

In which something quite remarkable must account for herself, there is sad mention of a submarine, and the domestic skills of Mr Jones are brought into question

They were all sitting in the Boardroom. Rather like a loveless marriage, Agnes was at one end of the enormous table and Jack at the other. Gwen sat tactfully in between, and warmed up a carefully friendly expression.

Ianto brought in coffee. He offered Agnes a cup. She looked up at him with her blue eyes and smiled brightly. ‘Why, thank you so much, dear child, but could I possibly have a cup of tea? If that is not too much trouble?’ Her smile widened a little more, and Ianto hurried away.

For a minute, there were just the three of them in the room. Agnes looked around herself placidly. ‘Well, this is nice,’ she said. ‘Most pleasant, to be sure.’

Gwen nodded. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’ murmured Jack.

Agnes looked at him sharply and then beamed at Gwen. ‘Miss Cooper, my dear, did you know, in the old days, when I awoke, I would be greeted with a carriage or, in recent times, a limousine. Positively spoiled, really.’ She giggled. ‘But Captain Harkness knows me better than that. I am a martyr to self-sufficiency. I made my way here using First Great Western.’

‘Ohhhhhh,’ groaned Jack despondently.

‘Quite,’ said Agnes. ‘The seat had fleas.’

A silence settled on the room.

Ianto returned, carrying a cup on a trembling saucer and a teapot. He set them down before Agnes and scurried over to sit near Gwen.

Agnes looked around expectantly. ‘Will the others be joining us?’

Jack coughed. He’d once spent two thousand years underground. To Gwen, he looked as though he was contemplating burying himself again.

‘This is it, Miss Havisham,’ he said, eventually. ‘My Team!’

‘Really?’ said Agnes, and she looked at Ianto and Gwen. Hard. And then back at Jack. ‘Are you trying to tell me, Captain Harkness, that the entire staff of Torchwood Cardiff now consists of a woman in trousers and a tea boy?’

‘. . . yes,’ whispered Jack.

Agnes reached into her carpet bag, took out a leather-bound notebook, folded