by Karl Fish
‘Who goes there?’ the sentry shouted with his rifle sight pointed at Gideon’s head.
‘My name is Professor Gideon Belchambers. I have an urgent message for Professor Soames.’
‘Which one, sir?’ the sentry asked, amused.
‘There are two?’ Gideon questioned
‘Montague Soames, sir, currently indisposed as I understand it, and his daughter. Isa–’
‘Belle?’ Gideon quickly interrupted ‘Good grief, little Belle with the bunches?’ He was both shocked and bemused.
‘You’re the second visitor to be as equally shocked today, sir.’ The sentry smiled.
‘Second?’ Gideon asked, tentatively.
‘Oh yes, sir. A terribly scarred man came earlier. I wouldn’t have let him in; bit dodgy, you know, but he was on the list.’
Gideon knew exactly who he meant. ‘What list?’ he asked.
The sentry pulled a plywood clipboard with a steel bulldog clip holding several sheets together. There, each Professor or senior member of staff had a list of preferred guests. The sentry perused the list. From a distance, the occupants of the black cars lurking in the shadows looked on at the unveiling events.
‘I’m sorry. No Professor Belchambers on this list, sir.’
‘Well, that’s because…’ Gideon began and then paused. He could read the list upside down and Monty had not used his name in a long time. He wasn’t on it. They had agreed never to meet in person. Not since Cairo.
‘Never mind,’ Gideon advised him. ‘Tell me, Professor Soames – you said he was somewhat indisposed. What did you actually mean?’
‘He was paralysed, sir. A stroke they say.’
‘OK. Now listen very carefully. You have a job to do, I know. But what I have inside my coat may be a cure for his infliction.’
‘A cure for a stroke, there’s no such thing, sir. What’s your actual business?’ the sentry asked, raising his rifle abruptly.
Gideon placed his hands in the air. ‘Please, if I had wanted to harm you or gain access there are many ways to have done so. I have nothing to hide and Monty Soames is an old friend of mine,’ Gideon advised beckoning to the man to undo his coat and reveal the satchel.
‘No funny business or I will shoot you where you stand,’ the sentry informed him. ‘Keep one arm raised and unbutton your coat.’
Gideon duly followed the orders. Not as easy as it seemed. Advising the sentry of the letters inside and the scorpion bottle he had found on Ilya earlier. The sentry was just about to remove Monty’s envelope. As he momentarily lowered his rifle a voice came from the darkness.
‘Lowering your rifle when on duty and faced with a potential enemy is a court-marshal offence, soldier,’ came the gravelly female voice.
Gideon began to turn around but a barrel of a revolver was firmly thrust into his spine.
‘I don’t think so,’ came the cut-glass accent of a man. ‘Calmly does it, old chum. Now, turn around slowly,’ the gentleman said to Gideon. ‘Keep those hands where I can see them.’
As Gideon rotated, he saw the lady first. Short, smoking a cigarette, a leather patch over one eye. The man holding the gun in his long black coat and fedora was textbook Department.
‘So, where’s Draper?’ Gideon asked.
Both of them glanced at each other.
‘I’ll take a leap,’ he continued. ‘I suspect this isn’t the first eye patch you have seen today,’ Gideon directed towards the sentry.
Not knowing who to point his rifle at, Gideon, or the man with the gun, the sentry simply lowered it.
‘The visitor earlier also had an eye patch, am I right?’ Gideon continued.
‘How did you know that?’ the sentry replied.
Gideon observed his captors, still with his hands in the air, as he weighed up their responsive body language.
‘Assuming you are friends of Nathaniel Noone, allow me to present myself. I am Professor Gideon Belchambers.’
‘Never heard of you,’ the man said, intently pointing his firearm at Gideon’s brow.
The eye-patched lady, on the other hand, drew a final drag on her cigarette before tossing it underneath her foot to be crushed.
‘I, on the other hand, have,’ she said, puffing a cloud of smoke as she exhaled. ‘You may lower your weapon, Thompson,’ she ordered, placing her hand on the barrel and putting pressure on it.
‘Well, Professor Belchambers. I can call you that, can I not?’ she continued, an underlying tone to her voice.
‘Of course, you can,’ he replied.
‘This is Thompson and I am Wink,’ she replied.
‘Seriously?’ came the surprised voice of the sentry ‘Your name’s Wink?’
With a click of his fingers, Thompson summoned Smith and Jones from the shadows who began escorting the young soldier away before Wink Waverley could court-marshal him there and then.
‘Wait, the letter.’ Gideon gestured towards the departing sentry still in possession of Monty’s envelope.
Thompson opened it and read it first before passing it to Wink.
‘Shall we … ’ She pointed towards the Museum, allowing Gideon to walk ahead of them.
*****
Aggie struggled to sleep. Whether it was the couch in the drawing-room or the temperature that plummeted during the night, she didn’t really know. She had tossed and turned for hours now and Uncle Gideon had not returned. What little, precious sleep she had been afforded had been interspersed with the recurring claustrophobic nightmare where insects crept and crawled over her body and animal masks whirled and danced hypnotically in front of her.
The mantelpiece clock chimed to inform her it was 5 am. Daybreak would be another couple of hours yet. She wrapped up tight in a patchwork blanket and revisited her mother’s face peering back at her from the photo. Amazingly, the magnifying glass still presented a dim circle of light. Aggie moved it in and out until a small circumference perfectly surrounded the missing crest on her mother’s Priory jacket.
‘Why did you destroy it?’ she asked her mother in the photo. ‘What made you so angry you ripped the school colours from your very own blazer?’
Her mother offered little response. Aggie knew all too well of the anger and fury that would erupt in her. Throughout her short fourteen years, it had been suggested that it was proof she was her mother’s daughter alright. Henrietta Huntington-Smythe was the latest to have fallen victim to it. But with good reason, she reassured herself.
‘You wake already?’ came the surprised voice entering the room. Aggie jumped and screamed in horror.
‘Nan, don’t do that. You made me jump.’
‘I sorry. Did not mean it,’ Nan replied ‘You hungry? Come, I make breakfast.’
‘Nothing from Uncle Gideon?’ Aggie questioned her.
Nan offered a shrug and nothing more.
‘Do you remember my mother?’ Aggie asked, holding the photo aloft.
‘I sorry.’ Nan shook her head ‘I come after your mother.’
‘Miss Dove said that Sister Harvey or Nelly Parker may know.’
Nan laughed sarcastically.
‘What’s so funny?’ Aggie enquired.
‘Miss Dove,’ Nan replied ‘Oh, special Miss Dove. She be here five minutes and think she know everybody.’
It was a peculiar reaction, Aggie thought and pressed the housekeeper. ‘Has she upset you?’
‘No, she no upset me. But why Ambledown WI accept her with open arms? Residents of Ambledown only, they say to me. Miss Dove, here five minutes and she running WI.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Aggie replied. She could see Nan was upset.
‘Bet she did not tell you Nelly’s sister, Sister Harvey.’
‘She told me they may know about my mother.’
‘You have cloth ears, Nelly Sister, Sister Harvey’s.’
‘They’re related?’ Aggie replied, surprised.
‘Exactly. Smart Miss Dove not even know that,’ Nan confirmed.
‘I see, how s
trange.’
‘Been here five minutes and foot under tables,’ Nan continued stomping around the place.
‘Shall we have that breakfast now?’ Aggie tried changing the subject.
‘I cook special breakfast. Show WI what they missing,’ Nan confirmed, stomping down to the basement floor.
I wonder why Dove did not know that? Aggie asked herself. How long has she actually been here? she wondered. As a school governess at her age, she must have come highly recommended. Without Uncle Gideon around, she would have to ask the Peabodys on their journey to school.
‘Will it be special like the other morning?’ Aggie asked.
‘Of course,’ Nan replied.
‘Is rationing different here?’ Aggie continued.
Nan refused to answer.
Chapter 33
The Russian Pt. 3
It had been the closest of shaves. Ilya had surveyed that room one hundred times. Little had he known during his surveillance that the Lord’s most aggressive hound was poised out of sight to attack any intruder.
Ilya moved to the window. Situating his back against the windowpanes, positioning himself as if from the scope perspective, he stepped across to the opposite side of the room and counted the panels from right to left. Three along and two up from waist height, he mimicked the Lord’s weekly routine. To the naked eye, the panelling appeared like a solid piece of workmanship, but subtle pressure in each of the corners sunk it, setting it back behind the surrounding panels. A smooth ball-bearing system allowed it to smoothly slide behind the neighbouring panel, leaving the hidden brass safe in the centre. This was not the appropriate time for dynamite and explosions. The storm had died and with it the cover that afforded him time and a cloak of isolation. He couldn’t risk any shock that might draw attention to himself or the lifeless dog with venom coursing through its veins. Instead, he reached into his well-worn satchel for the final time that evening and pulled out a set of skeleton keys and metal picks. This had been his forte so many years ago and like riding a bicycle the skill had never left him.
Placing the main key into the brass outer, he rocked it with the tiniest of motions until a subtle catch of metal on metal clicked. Using a hooked pick, flat at one end, he then began to meticulously navigate the inner workings of the mechanism. Several, patient, minutes later and the flat metallic tool had connected enough for him to ease the lock anti-clockwise. It was an old and cantankerous piece of rusting metal but the Russian’s skill remained undefeated as the safe finally swung open.
Before him were folios upon folios of papers. There were at least two dozen, varying in size and volume. Each of them was labelled on the spine and like a library of vertical, opposed to horizontal books, he read the titles on the bindings. Blueprints and plans of Huntington Hall, land registries of his vast estate and property empire, The Last Will and Testament of the Lord himself, The White Star correspondence, and then one in a cardboard tube on top of a portfolio simply entitled ‘Cairo’.
Time was ticking on. Pinpricks of light in the distance and the returning mewing of tired hounds grew nearer. He could not wait any longer. Carefully removing the tube and the folio named Cairo he placed them in the satchel. This is what he had been searching for and if he was right, he had found his Eldorado.
Removing the scorpion phial from his pocket he took a pinprick of the anti-venom inside and administered it in-between the dog’s paw pads. He certainly couldn’t hang around now. The dog had mauled him and his blood would leave a trail. He remained invisible in darkness until the dog caught his scent. He patched himself up as best he could. As soon as the dog awoke, he would undoubtedly be the new quarry. Ensuring his bounty was secured tightly, Ilya relocked the safe and replaced the panel as if he had never been there. Reversing the route, he had entered by, he smiled as he passed the portraits glaring down on him disapprovingly. Descending the stairs, he alighted through the stone threshold out of the main entrance. Slipping silently into the darkness and back to the rope and hook that would allow him an exit, Ilya was gone, into the calm after the storm.
Chapter 34
OSIRIS
Daybreak was steadily approaching. Nathaniel Noone and Belle Soames had briefly nodded off after completing their paper puzzles. Noone awoke with a jolt.
‘Still having nightmares, Nate?’ Belle asked.
‘Sometimes,’ he lied. They were more consistent than ever.
‘How about a nice cup of tea as we wait for the light to hit the windows?’
Noone nodded eagerly and began to place the taped-together jigsaws onto the windows as he wiped away the morning condensation. From his initial examination, the papers were split into two sets. The first were pictures, images that looked, as much as he could tell at this point, like negative hieroglyphics. He would be certain of them within the next hour. The others were simply handwritten names, a list. The writing was far too small to observe under the dimly lit bulb.
A double knock on the door of Montague Soame’s office and Noone turned the handle expecting to greet Belle with a pot of tea.
‘Hello, old friend,’ came Gideon’s voice.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Noone responded surprised.
‘Not exactly the greeting he was expecting, Nathaniel, but it will suffice,’ came Thompson’s voice from behind Gideon.
Entering behind them, the statuesque Wink Waverley made her presence known immediately.
‘Nice eye patch,’ she expressed in her gravel tone towards Noone.
‘Likewise,’ Noone replied.
‘Nathaniel Noone, I presume,’ she said, holding out her hand.
‘And you are?’ he asked.
‘Wink Waverley. Of the Executive.’
Waverley didn’t even bat her single eyelid. She just smiled, she liked Noone already. ‘So, Mr Noone, what do you have here?’ Wink continued.
Crash! An almighty shattering of teapot and china cups made them all jump. Thompson pulled his gun in nervous reaction and trained it on the door.
Belle was standing at the doorway, her feet spattered in boiling hot water and slithers of ceramic.
‘Good grief, girl,’ Waverley shouted. ‘Haven’t you seen an eye patch before.’
‘Of course, she has,’ Noone interrupted, sarcastically smiling beneath his own eye patch, pushing past them all to embrace her.
‘It’s ghosts she’s not used to seeing,’ Gideon interjected before taking a step towards Belle. ‘Hello, Belle,’ he whispered, placing a gentle peck on her cheek.
Belle looked up with tears flooding from her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. Noone and Gideon both took support of her under each arm and helped her to a chair.
‘Hal –’ she was just about to speak before Gideon placed his index finger over her lips.
‘Shhhh,’ he interrupted.
‘Dad told me you were dead. You were all dead.’ She sobbed uncontrollably.
‘I will explain. I promise. Your father. Where’s your father?’ Gideon asked.
‘He’s in his private quarters, here, at the Museum.’
‘The envelope – the one from the sentry. Open it and read it out aloud,’ Gideon advised as he looked towards Thompson.
‘Dearest Montague. If you are reading this letter then I am dead,’ Thompson began. ‘If you are reading this, I am dead. If you are dead too, I shall see you for my judgement on the other side.’
Belle sobbed in the background.
‘Go on,’ Noone encouraged Thompson, all the while offering a shoulder to Belle.
‘I am hoping you are alive and accept this as my apology for leading them to your door. If, as I suspect, they have found what they need then you will require the anti-venom I am in supply of and which accompanies this letter.’ Thompson stopped reading the letter and looked up.
Gideon was holding up the green glass bottle with the scorpion on it.
‘That looks more like poison to me,’ Belle stuttered through quivering lips.
‘All th
e more reason to be cautious, my dear,’ Wink interjected. ‘Your father, I understand, had some form of stroke?’
Belle nodded.
‘Unconfirmed though,’ Noone interjected.
‘And your man, Thompson … ’ Wink continued directing her single glare towards her subordinate. ‘The Concierge, that is what the doctor initially thought, am I right?’
‘That’s correct. He’s been in a catatonic state since Draper’s disappearance,’ Thompson confirmed.
‘Too many coincidences for my liking,’ Wink said, shaking her head.
Clicking her fingers twice, a gentleman and lady stepped forward from their sedentary positions posted outside of Monty’s office. Noone immediately recognised them as the tailing couple from the departing Tube several hours before.
‘Miss Soames, these people will escort you to your father and will then take him to the Hospital of Tropical Medicine. Be sure not to break the bottle that Professor Belchambers is about to hand over to you. There, they may be able to cure your father. It depends on what is in that bottle,’ Wink ordered politely.
Belle, who was drying her eyes on the cuff of her blouse, nodded in agreement and directed herself out of the room. Gideon duly handed over the bottle from Ilya’s satchel, though he never took kindly to orders from someone who was yet to gain his trust.
‘One thing, please,’ Gideon added before they had left. ‘At the Museum for Natural History, there are a number of Death-stalkers – the scorpions that may be the source of this venom or anti-venom. Should the hospital require more of them, Major Boyd Collingdale is in charge and if he hasn’t trod on every one of them, he will be able to help. Tell him I sent you. And send him my apologies. I will see him again one day soon and explain.’
They acknowledged Gideon’s information before a supportive confirming nod from Wink Waverley allowed them to depart.
‘My, my, haven’t you been busy, Professor.’ Wink smirked towards Gideon. ‘Resurrected from the dead by all accounts,’ she continued, all the while observing Belle’s reactions. ‘And time to spare to visit two great museums in the dead of night,’ Wink continued. ‘What secrets you must be keeping.’