by Karl Fish
‘You need to be careful, boy. Plenty of folk shank you for a lot less around here.’ He smiled with menace.
*****
‘What did it all mean?’ Aggie asked herself. Although the skipping and poem differed from one another, they were both based on the same poem. But what came first? The song or the poem? And C S-M, if that was her mother, what was her name?
‘Aggie, you need to eat. Here,’ Cecile told her, placing down one of her cassoulets. Soon the cats were all around her and on the table pawing for their share.
‘Where’s Purrsia?’ Aggie asked.
‘He never returned,’ Cecile replied with a slight tear in her eye.
Aggie began eating as she turned her attentions to the schoolbooks. On every cover of each of the children’s books, the ones Sister Harvey had given her, the names had been crossed out and were illegible. And it appeared it had taken place sometime later too as all of them were defaced in the same cartridge ink, which was peculiar in itself, and definitely different to what had been written beneath the scribble.
‘Cecile?’ Aggie asked. ‘Do the initials C S-M mean anything to you.’
‘No.’ she replied shaking her head. ‘Why?’
‘They’re the initials of a schoolgirl on these books. But I have no idea who she was.’
‘Could try the graveyard.’ Archie piped up. ‘Anyone with Ambledown connections would have relatives buried there.’
‘Don’t be so morbid, Archie,’ another melted man interrupted. ‘Who’d want to visit a graveyard, particularly at this time of night to look for someone? If you ask me, the cenotaph is an easier starting place. Many lives lost in the Great War and all names in alphabetical order.’ He concluded, before a heated debate with Archibald Goodfellow.
Aggie did not fancy either option in the dark. She could, of course, see for herself on the way to school in the morning. Nelly Parker would also know but she was making life about as easy as Sister Harvey; not very. Instead, she decided to read through the books for any clues she could find herself. Heaven knew where Gideon was. It could be a long night
*****
‘Welcome, Ladies.’ Lady Huntington-Smythe beamed from ear to ear standing on a pint-sized temporary stage in the schoolhouse, erected by the Priory girls hours earlier. ‘Welcome to Ambledown Woman’s Institute’s monthly gathering.’
A brief round of self-congratulatory applause greeted her.
‘I am pleased to introduce, not for the first time it has to be said, the outstanding fundraiser and campaigner for our injured servicemen – Miss Jennifer Erket.’
The tall slender figure of Ms Erket, Miss Jennifer Erket this time, made a short step up on stage to dwarf Lady Huntington-Smyth. Her prominent zebra-striped coat standing out against the backdrop.
‘Ladies, without your kindness, support and contribution, our society OSIRIS, as we like to call it for short, would not exist today. Not only your donations but your time and influence are imperative for us to achieve our true goals.’ She lit up her slender, purple-tipped cigarette with the elegance of a silent movie star and puffed intricate halos of smoke across her obedient crowd. Dove operated the projector screen as they dimmed the lights and began their show.
Chapter 41
The Formula
Belle faced a huge dilemma. Nathaniel and Gideon were headed for Ambledown. Wink Waverley and Thompson were much closer in Whitehall. There was no contest as to where her loyalties lay but as a prisoner of immediate geography, the safer bet was Whitehall. Belle felt sick to the pit of her stomach. Such talk of spies and trust had thrust her memory back over thirteen years. Back when she was Belle with the bunches, a freckled-faced redheaded teenager with daily crushes on the devilishly handsome charges of her father, Montague Soames. Professor, philanthropist, spymaster that he was. It was a feeling she remembered during those fractious days all that time ago. When they’d had to leave Egypt in a hurry, her father had been nervous and trusting of no one; where in Cairo tragedy had struck their closest of friends. Where she recalled dressing in black at a memorial service for the twins and the loss of the infant girl. A loss that had haunted her until now and the footnote of history rewritten on the vision of a single apparition who was now very much flesh and blood.
She would travel to Whitehall, despite allegiances. This information might expedite her own father’s cure if indeed there was a cure and Gideon had been truthful. It was early evening now; she would leave at dusk disguised as a man in her father’s clothes. Then one last check of the Mummies’ chamber to make sure what she had seen could only mean one thing.
OBEY!
*****
The bell rang to announce the orderlies’ entrance into Le Chat Noir. Aggie remained hidden back in the corner reading the books. Archie Goodfellow and his peers had spent many hours drinking and dining and had to be helped as they zigzagged to their waiting transport. Once they had gone, Aggie peered out of the window to see Pop and Eric finish loading the van and walk towards her.
‘Cecile. I’m going to ask Pop and Eric to escort me home. If that’s OK?’ Without waiting for a response, she picked up her books and left the café.
‘Evenin’, young Agatha. Should you be out after dark?’ Pop greeted her and questioned.
‘Will you walk me home?’ Aggie asked.
‘Course I will,’ Eric replied eagerly.
‘Course we will,’ Pop corrected. ‘Where’s Gideon then?’ he continued in his husky tone.
‘I’m hoping he’s back from London when I get home.’
‘Wot business in London did ’e ’ave?’ Pop asked.
Aggie just shrugged her shoulders.
The Lady, ever inquisitive, caught the shimmer of Aggie’s necklace and flew from Pop’s shoulder to hers. At first, playfully pecking her neck then making a quick jerk to steal the precious silver heirloom.
‘Lady, no!’ Pop shouted as he narrowly missed the bird with a backhand sending it flapping away.
The sheer look of horror on Aggie’s face was as if she was facing Lyle again. She was petrified. Realising this Pop Braggan knelt down in front of her.
‘I’m sorry, young lady. Us Braggans are a bad lot sometimes. Birds included. I assure you, my undying protection. You ’ave me word.’ He crossed his heart as he finished.
Eric placed an arm around her to comfort her.
‘Eric, you smell awful.’ Aggie laughed.
‘I smell of money!’ He cheered, showing her a giant fan of American dollar bills.
‘Wow!’ Aggie replied.
‘Wow to you,’ came Eric’s response pointing at her necklace. ‘That’s amazing. Can I buy it?’ He smiled, producing a few dollars.
‘Both of you hide your wares away. You never know who’s watchin’,’ Pop advised them.
‘It’s not for sale anyway,’ Aggie confirmed, looking down at the magnifying glass that was beginning to shine and glow the more that it took in the moonlight.
From an alleyway opposite stood the watcher, cloaked in a dark camouflaged Cossack, and continuing a vigil of observation. Stalking but not engaging the young lady with the dark bobbed hair.
The light of Aggie’s magnifier travelled across the road as the watcher’s eyes followed her and the accompanying friends uphill.
Always remaining out of their sight. The watcher’s time would come. But not now. Those were the orders.
Aggie placed the necklace back beneath her blouse. After a while, the light faded, for now.
‘Here we are then,’ Pop Braggan announced standing at the side of the Steep looking upon the conjoined black brickwork of the Belchambers residence, dwarfed beneath The Keep.
‘Eric, will you walk me to the door?’ Aggie asked.
Eric beamed from ear to ear as he offered a linked arm to grab onto.
Pop Braggan rolled his eyes in embarrassment.
As Aggie then reached the bottom of the stone steps Nan was already unbolting the door. Aggie lent into Eric’s ear to peck him on the cheek.
‘Meet me here in an hour. Tell no one,’ she whispered before planting a tiny kiss on him. ‘And have a wash, Eric Peabody. You really do smell bad.’
Eric was powerless to refuse. He nodded as eagerly as a puppy. Flushed bright red he turned and bolted to catch up with Pop Braggan before Nan could volley insults his way.
*****
Belle was dressed in gentleman’s trousers, shirt, and blazer, although all were baggy and ill fitting. She tied her flowing deep-red curls into a bun and hid them under an old Panama hat her father had not worn for years. When the time came to leave, she would place a gas mask over her face to conceal her identity.
Much darker since nightfall, Belle struggled to navigate the unlit corridors of the British Museum. Ghoulish shadows from the exhibits at the mercy of the shifting evening light took on a different perspective to the day.
The violet torch was all she had to help her. She lit it up intermittently, conscious of the batteries dying as they had on its counterpart. Her lonely echoing footsteps were soon joined by another pair. No one was allowed in the Museum past five, only her father and herself. She doubted very much the government had been that responsive in finding a cure and so she immediately hid, squatting behind a large stone carving of a giant scarab beetle.
The footsteps grew louder, clip clopping steadily towards her. A white beam of circular torchlight flashed across surfaces as if an anti-aircraft light was hunting its target deep beyond the clouds. It caught the corner of her foot that stuck out ever so slightly and was then fixed upon her hiding place. The shadowy figure moved closer step by step.
Belle jumped from her hiding place, lighting up the violet torch into the intruder’s face, hoping it would blind them and give her time to run. The beam hit them right between the eyes but its glow incomparable with a harsh white light and it served little purpose in blinding them.
‘Aagghhhhhhhhhh!’ came Belle’s blood-curdling scream.
Chapter 42
The Illuminant
Mr Louds was pacing up and down outside of the barricaded grounds as the black van approached the large white building. Usually calm, now extremely agitated, he wore a gas mask that covered his cheeks and jaw but still allowed his furious stare to be seen by everyone. The orderlies had given up on trying to maintain decorum in the vehicle as Archie Goodfellow and gang maintained a steady flow of army songs and high jinks throughout the journey. Perhaps it was Pop’s offer to resurrect the deal for the birds of prey that saw the orderlies arrive in higher spirits than their master, Brian Louds.
‘You can wipe those smirks from off of your faces!’ Louds shouted as the van arrived and people began to filter off of the vehicle. ‘That includes you too!’ he screamed at the orderlies.
It was quite out of character and soon the drunken joviality had descended into a sombre march as the patients donned their Institute cloaks and began walking, like chastised Benedictine monks, to their hospital quarters.
‘Good news, Mr Louds,’ Professor Malcolm insisted, trying desperately to change his focus. ‘We have all that we need.’ He smiled.
Louds blink-less glare focused on the Professor and his dishevelled appearance as Meticulous Malcolm Meredith and the two huge men began to unload the bags of Sussex Sedge and the many jars of writhing scarabs.
‘Do you think I am an idiot?’ Louds aggressively rounded on the Professor.
‘Nothing of the kind, sir,’ Professor Malcolm replied.
‘Then explain that!’ he snarled, pointing towards the pinnacle of the building.
From a small triangular prism, indistinguishable in the daylight, a bright-red glow was being emitted. It was throbbing as if an electrical element had suddenly received a huge power surge. Had this been a night of an air raid it would have gained the attention of foreign invaders and would have been the object of an incendiary assault.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ the Professor cried out startled. ‘It worked.’
‘So, you did know!’ Mr Louds accused.
‘It, it, it was an experiment,’ stuttered the Professor, struggling for an answer. ‘I saw a flash of the stone’s brilliance only briefly late last night but wanted to test a theory. Eureka!’ He punched the air half-heartedly.
‘Some cats lives can be extinguished in the briefest of moments,’ Louds reminded him; furious he had not been informed.
The orderlies were keen to show Louds the haul and inform them of their new business partner.
‘We manage to find new falcon, Mr Louds. Man has it in two days for us he says. Falcons and chicks.’
‘You better make sure he delivers on that promise. No more mistakes or I shall inform Dr Mialora. Do you understand?’
The orderlies look terrified by the prospect, bowed and resumed carrying the sedge and beetles into the building.
‘Mr Louds, if my assumptions are correct, then I have something more to show you.’
‘It better be worth my while, Professor. No more failures, do you hear?’
‘Loud and clear, sir. Loud and clear.’ Professor Malcolm was excited as he led the way into the laboratory. The burning brightness of the Scarlet Scarab forced him to spread his fingers in front of his eyes before he could find the muslin cloth to cover it.
‘Don’t do that!’ Louds cried out expecting it to catch fire immediately.
Instead, the muslin cloth muted the brilliant red, pulsating like molten lava, as the light below fought to get out.
‘What on earth is it doing?’ Louds continued in astonishment.
The Professor had passed the blazing, entombed insect and made his way to its living relatives. All other insects had forced their way to the edges of their glass tanks and were unified in a hypnotic state. The scarabs had once again succumbed to the influence of their scarlet peer and as with the night before, they had begun to metamorphose. Their shells had absorbed the illuminating light and they glowed a bright violet hue.
‘Professor, what does this mean? Professor?’ Louds asked.
Meticulous Meredith Malcolm gazed on in wonder as if a boy seeing his first tadpole sprout legs. What it meant to the Professor was an astonishing biological catalyst that the world had not seen before.
‘Professor?’ Louds shouted.
‘It means we have solved your riddle.’ He smiled broadly.
*****
The scream from Belle echoed through the voluminous halls and corridors as the shadowy figure was lit up in violet and purple. The figure grabbed her and clasped his hands across her mouth to muffle the sound.
‘Belle, it’s me, Thompson,’ said the agent. ‘Please, turn that thing off,’ he asked calmly.
Belle looked beyond him, transfixed, maintaining the focus of the beam. She didn’t blink at all. Instead, she pushed past him and walked towards the illuminated wall.
‘What? What is it?’ Thompson asked before turning around. ‘Oh, my God!’ he announced, his jaw aghast.
‘Not your God, Thompson, but definitely a God!’ Belle replied.
They stood there, sustained in observation of what they had just discovered. It must have been twenty foot in diameter and dominated the canvas of the huge wall yet no one would see it in daylight let alone darkness unless they used that very specific torchlight. Hundreds of people would have unwittingly walked past it day after day.
‘It’s RA!’ Belle confirmed ‘The all-seeing eye of RA. Observing, protecting, influencing his subjects.’
‘May I?’ Thompson asked for the torch. He took the focus of the beam and began to walk backwards so that the strength of the beam was diminished but its range expanded. ‘Look, Belle, look there.’ He pointed, just out of the circumference of the eye. ‘What can you see?’
Belle walked towards the illuminated wall where, just legible, the words protruded outward like lashes from the eye. ‘Believe! This one says, Believe,’ Belle confirmed.
Thompson redirected the beam around the edge and moved closer to Belle for a better look. They followed the light i
n a clockwise fashion as words flashed in front of them
Follow, Obey, Believe, Loyalty, Serve, Subject, Kill.
‘I’m really not sure what all of this means,’ said Belle.
‘No one is, Belle.’ Thompson replied, thinking for a moment. ‘RA – where do I remember RA from?’ he spoke aloud to himself.
‘He’s very famous, in Egypt anyway. You cannot go anywhere over there without spotting a totem or plaque above a doorway. People believe he will protect them from evil spirits’
‘That’s it,’ Thompson announced, suddenly realising where he had seen it before. He fumbled inside his coat pocket and produced the white calling card from OSIRIS On the back he recalled the crest in fine calligraphy – ‘RA’. He pointed the beam of light onto the card.
‘OBEY!’ was illuminated in front of him in bold. He flipped the card over to reveal ‘FORGET’.
‘I need to show you something else,’ Belle interrupted. Taking the torch and Thompson’s hand she navigated the dark Museum corridors to the hall of the Mummies. ‘There,’ she said, pointing upwards at the huge lettering
‘OBEY!’ Thompson called out in the echoey chamber. ‘But obey who?’
‘I was just on my way to tell yourself and Mrs Waverley about this when you arrived.’
‘Ahh yes, Wink,’ Thompson replied. ‘We may have a slight problem there.’
*****
The chattering audience of the WI had left the school premises in a euphoric state. Governess Dove and Jennifer Erket had excelled themselves. By far this was the greatest presentation delivered yet and the sheer excitement of requiring the good Institute ladies of Ambledown to help them within the next few days for their first event ensured nervous excitement rippled through their ranks all the way home.
‘Last time we spoke, Miss Dove, you alluded to a discovery. What was it?’ Erket asked of her ally.
‘Not of a discovery as such. More of clarification required,’ Dove replied.
‘Are you sure, your excitement suggested something greater. Something of note,’ Erket probed.