Glancing at my watch, I see it’s now ten forty. I don’t have much more time to waste. I walk around to the backside of the cart under the archway.
“Stand clear of the arches!” a strong, gruff voice bellows.
My blood pressure rises about ten points. I drop my coffee and bag, and jump back. A guard in a navy-blue cloak with a red collar materializes out of nowhere. He stomps his foot and shoots me an ice-cold glare.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “Look, all I want to do is return this”—I hold up the spur—“to whomever it belongs. I didn’t want somebody walking away with it.”
His expression remains stony.
“I’m just going to put it down on the ground out of the tourists’ reach and maybe somebody can retrieve it when they relieve you from your post later.”
There is no movement. Hurriedly, I take a step into the forbidden zone, drop the spur behind the pillar, and retreat. That’s my good deed for the day.
Brushing my hands against my jeans, I turn around to retrieve my bag. To my horror, a woman in a red beanie andblack puffer coat has her grimy hands on my wallet and phone.
“Give those back!” I scream.
Her eyes widen. She drops my phone, but keeps hold of my wallet and sprints into the darkened tunnel that connects the courtyard to the sandy parade grounds.
“Stop!” I shout. “Thief!”
A few people stop and stare, but nobody moves to help. Taking matters into my own hands, I take off after her, but it’s no good. She’s taller, faster, and there are too many tourists heading in my direction. A moment later, she’s lost in the crowd.
My chest tightens. There goes my credit and debit cards, and my Tube pass. All those can be replaced, but it’s going to be a pain in the butt. I hope she didn’t get my ID or my palace security badge. I rub my temples and dejectedly return to where I’d left my belongings and empty coffee cup.
It hits me then and there that I was stupid to chase after her. The most valuable stuff I own, like my sketchbook, was in the purse, not my wallet. What if she’d been armed? She could’ve hurt me.
Back inside the courtyard, I see the soldier from the archway standing guard over my bag. A pair of police officers approaches him at the same time as me.
“Ma’am, is this yours?” one of the officers asks.
“Yes.”
“You can’t just leave your belongings sitting out in the open. It’s a security threat. I’ll need you to?—”
“Ian, she didn’t leave it here on a whim,” the guard interjects, breaking his silence. “A pickpocket stole her wallet, and she chased them.” His eyes look me up and down. “Unsuccessfully, it seems.”
“Ah. In that case, we’ll need you to come with us and file a report with the City of London police.”
“You aren’t one of them?” I ask.
“No, we’re with the MOD, the Ministry of Defense.”
“Oh.” I rub the back of my neck. All the times I passed through here, I never realized there was a difference. “I just need to, um, call my boss and let him know I’m going to be late.”
I search for my phone.
The guard clears his throat, the palest hint of pink coloring his cheeks. “It’s in my boot.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your mobile.” He lifts the hem of his long coat, exposing a pair of highly polished thigh-high boots. “It’s in my boot.” His white-gloved hand reaches inside the right boot. He places the device into my outstretched hand. “I don’t have any pockets.”
“Oh.” I open and close my mouth. “Uh, thanks. He could’ve just slipped it into my purse. I wonder why he didn’t.
The screen is shattered, and when I press the power button, it refuses to turn on. “Seriously?” I throw my head back. “Whatever. At this point, if I’m late, I’m late.” I toss the useless phone into the black hole that is my purse. “I’m ready. Where can I find a London city police officer?”
“I’ll go and ring one now. In the meantime, would you mind waiting here?” Ian, the officer, says.
