The Gold Thief

by Justin Fisher

  “Toasted almonds and chalk, with a pinch of burnt lipstick,” smiled George. “Have you missed it?”

  Everyone saw and felt different things when crossing the Veil. Ned could smell burning diesel and essence of lavender with a very slight hint of lemon cake.

  “I thought I had, George. Till I got here. Why is it always me? Me and my family?”

  “Because you’re special, old chum. It’s why we’re all so blasted fond of you.”

  His burly protector patted him on the back, which in turn knocked Ned into a nearby bush.

  “Ow!” spat Ned, pulling a bunch of leaves from his mouth. “You know, sometimes I think I could do with a little less fondness.”

  “Your safety and well-being are our top priority, dear boy, and it has nothing to do with your ‘gifts’. You’re one of us, Ned, and we protect our own.”

  Ned thought of Madame Oublier’s Guardian. It had stood motionless by George’s trailer all day, and despite Benissimo’s steely gaze the troupe were still talking about it.

  “Not sure if I want protection, of Madame Oublier’s sort anyway. That thing gives me the creeps, George.”

  “And well it should. There was a time when the boss trusted my strength alone to guard you. To be honest,” he now whispered, “there’s a lot been going on lately that I’m not entirely chuffed about.”

  Ned looked up to his friend. Even by night he could see the ape’s eyes were fixed on Jonny Magik and Lucy, hanging at the back and deep in conversation.

  “Do you really not trust him, George? If Lucy is a Farseer, surely she’d know whether there was anything to worry about?”

  “Our young friend does not suffer fools, yet seems quite unable to see clearly when it comes to the sin-eater,” grunted the ape. “She may be learning to ‘read’ the future, but it’s the here and now I’m afraid of. I’m glad you’re back, though. Keep an eye on him, old bean, a very close eye.”

  The streets of central London were heavy with the last-minute buying of presents. To anyone else it was the perfect night for roasted chestnuts and seeing the lights on Regent Street. Shoppers shopped, to the crunch of frosted paving, and every puddle and window was a reflection of reds, greens and blues. Little did they dream of the strange folk walking in their shadows, in the forgotten nooks and crannies of the city’s alleyways and rooftops.

  The troupe travelled in practised silence till they found themselves in Bloomsbury, with its pillared, whitewashed buildings and its grand squares. Moving as one, they scaled the side of a wall like black ants, Olivia Armstrong’s training guiding her son’s every foothold, every gripped sill and cornice. This was just like scaling the rooftops back home but for one – or rather two very noticeable differences. There was no Dad in the shadows reminding him to “breathe” and no Mum by the dustbins waiting with a kick to the chest. Ned sighed. He would gladly take a hundred kicks or a thousand overprotective speeches if he could just have them back. He’d stick to the rules – and happily this time – but, more than anything, he’d put the Hidden behind him, behind all three of them, once and for all.

  Then, from the top of a roof, they saw it, surrounded by tall iron railings: the British Museum.

  Ned’s heart skipped a beat and then another. This was it, the one possible lead to the whereabouts of his parents and, just for a moment, Ned let himself look up to the stars. They were bright and full of hope and for just that moment so was Ned. Whether his mum and dad could see them or not didn’t matter, Ned would use the skills they’d taught him to keep looking, and he would do so until he found them.

  The issue now at hand was the location of Vault X. Madame Oublier and Benissimo were quite certain that it was the thief’s next target. The problem was that nobody knew its whereabouts within the museum or, more specifically, where to find its entrance. But for that, they had Lucy.

  Though her gifts as a Farseer were still new to her and her control over them rudimentary at best, she had found the Source to the Veil’s magical powers some eighteen months before, and Ned had learnt that she had known well ahead of time that he would use the One-Way Key, telling the Glimmerman to ready the mirror.

  “Keep your heads down,” ordered Benissimo, before pulling a spyglass from his pocket. “We’ve company.”

  There was an almost-imperceptible call from Aark above them. Finn’s two-headed hawk was in agreement. No man or beast could see more clearly than the bird, even in pitch-black darkness.

  From the shadows beside Ned came a familiar “Roo?” Gorrn was offering his services.

  When dealing with familiars one has to be as polite as possible; they are easily offended and can sulk for weeks if not dealt with in the correct manner. But there were things about Gorrn that made this awkward. For one, he was lazy. Normal familiars helped around the house and tended to their masters’ general needs. Gorrn flatly refused to do anything that did not involve biting or fighting. And the last time Ned had asked him to help with the laundry his faithful bodyguard and shadow had actually gnawed on his arm. It had been a gummy, soft sort of a bite, but the message was clear: “I ONLY DO BITING AND FIGHTING.”

  Ned was still cross that the creature had turned tail on the bargeist and, bites or not, he wasn’t going to let him forget it.

  “Not now, Gorrn, you can make up for yesterday when we get inside.”

  “Arr,” replied his familiar, in a tone that sounded mildly hurt and just a little bit potentially violent.

  There was a tiny “me too” squeak from Lucy’s shoulder. His mouse’s sense of loyalty had blurred once again.

  “Same goes for you too, turncoat.”

  Ned sidled up to the Ringmaster. Below them and away from the rush of shopping and lights, the streets appeared empty but were not.

  Unmarked vans, joggers, couples walking dogs.

  “Oh dear,” said Bene. “This could get complicated.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Watch, pup,” said Bene.

  Ned watched. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be seeing, but then … the same jogger came round again, on the street below – unmistakable in his yellow top and blue trainers. A couple with a dog turned at the top of the street, and came back down again.

  “They’re … going in circles.”

  “Undercover police,” said the Ringmaster. “We’ve got company and it’s Scotland Yard. See the man in the white van? Hasn’t moved a muscle. Radio isn’t on, he isn’t on his phone. He’s just watching.”

  “So what do we do?” whispered Ned.

  “We wait.”

  Ned couldn’t believe his ears. Somewhere down there the thief was planning a robbery. He was the only lead to his parents’ whereabouts – and Benissimo wanted to wait!

  “Shouldn’t we get inside? The museum’s huge; what if we miss him going in?”

  The Ringmaster put his hand on Ned’s shoulder.

  “No one wants to help you more than I do, but there’s a right way and a wrong way to tackle a stake-out, especially when the street is crawling with coppers, and the right way is my way.”

  Benissimo was not one for hands on shoulders or the ruffling of hair. He was as old as the hills, as old as the streets they were watching, and Ned knew he was being as sincere and as kind as he knew how.

  Down below, the disguised boys and girls in blue spoke into their wrist radios and walked their dogs, eyes and ears open for the slightest hint of trouble. They were no doubt good at what they did, thought Ned, though he was quite certain that the thief they were hoping to catch was better.

  Lucy suddenly knelt up from where she’d been lying and started to sway.

  “There’s something below us,” she murmured.

  “Where, girl?” demanded the Ringmaster.

  But Lucy’s mind was on other things – in other things.

  “The thief, he’s horrible,” she whispered, her eyes flitting wildly.

  Ned had seen that faraway look some eighteen months before and on a much older woman. George w
as right, Lucy really had taken on Kitty’s power and it was clearly distressing her. He was about to try and console her when Benissimo steadied his arm.

  “Not now, pup. Jonny, quickly – help the child. The rest of you, keep your eyes open. He’s here.’

  The Shadow

  eorge picked Lucy up with one of his great mitts and sat her down, whilst Jonny Magik slowly went through his pockets. The more distressed she became, the more he smiled, like a parent dealing with a child’s tantrum and knowing that all would be well. He pulled an old fountain pen and a piece of paper from his pocket, wrote the word “still” on one side and then swallowed it. Seeing the worry on Ned’s face, he gave him a reassuring wink.

  “Don’ worry, ‘Hero’, your friend is a strong one. We’ve been here before, she and I. It always turns out OK in the end.”

  And though his cool Caribbean charm told Ned that everything would be all right, beneath it, in the pores of Jonny Magik’s flesh, Ned saw something move. It was as bold as brass and playing on the surface of his skin. The sin-eater laid his hand on Lucy’s forehead and she stilled herself. As she relaxed, Jonny’s expression slipped and his face darkened, just the way it had when Ned had first met him. What was he? What had the man just done to Lucy and what was wrong with his skin? It was as if whatever had ailed Lucy had somehow come under his power.

  Then, the sin-eater blinked and his easy demeanour returned, and it was as if nothing had happened.

  When Lucy came round she was dizzy and listless, as though she’d been on a journey but had forgotten where.

  “Did it …?” she began.

  “Yes, child, but you’re back now and all is as it should be.”

  She hugged the sin-eater and smiled. Whatever had just taken place between them, it wasn’t new to them. Ned bit his lip. In the past it had been him that Lucy had turned to. He wasn’t jealous, precisely; it was more than that. The newcomer had a hold over his friend and Ned did not know what it was, because Lucy hadn’t told him. And that made him worried.

  But there was little time to think about it. The thief was down there somewhere and on the loose.

  “Thank you, Jonny. The side gate, Bene, east side,” Lucy said, her eyes now clear and focused.

  Even as Ned looked to check on the street, George was up and moving.

  ***

  Fox watched from the operations truck. In front of him, a sea of monitors and their high-tech, blinking feeds. Acoustics, radar, satellite and countless cameras up every lamp-post, tree and street corner. The data was also being transmitted to the many arms of the BBB. Across the globe, analysts watched and listened. In an undisclosed office the eyes of Mr Owl were also watching, guiding Fox’s every move. Bear would not be taking part, not even remotely. Bear only got involved when things turned bad.

  Fox was the BBB’s great hope, their best agent. But his investigations had not gone well. At every turn they were met with silence. The Hidden and its people did not want to be found. Since the BBB’s inception their ultimate goal had been to keep the world safe. The Hidden and their magical powers were an unknown and, like all good organisations, the things that the BBB did not understand frightened them the most. Despite outward appearances, all the BBB’s combined efforts were now solely focused on uncovering the Hidden. His best lead had taken him to the quiet suburb of Clucton. But that lead had left along with the boy and when he’d approached his two supposed friends to ask where he had gone, they had answered with blank faces.

  “Wickles-what? I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone called, what was it, Watters-lot?”

  Even when they’d used a lie detector, it seemed that they genuinely had no idea who Ned was, as if their minds had been completely wiped of any memory of him. Had it not been for their informant, a curious Mr Slight, he would never have known about the Ringmaster and his circus, or their connection to the crimes.

  Tonight would be different. Scotland Yard were at his full disposal and being co-ordinated by his suited men in grey. They were ready, finally a step ahead and, if Mr Slight was right, Vault X was to be their target.

  “Er, sir,” said a voice over the radio. “Best check the cameras.”

  Mr Fox looked up. On the CCTV monitors, he saw something that sent a shiver down his spine.

  Several of Scotland Yard’s best undercover agents lay cold on the ground, and whatever had silenced them was gone. The street was entirely still.

  Breaking and Entering

  n the rooftop opposite the museum, the troupe moved with military precision. Silence and speed, these were its weapons, along with a little magic and an oversized ape. The Tortellini boys leapt from the rooftop, landing like cats before spreading out to the museum and the unaware boys in blue.

  “Jonny?” asked Benissimo.

  “Already on it, boss,” said the sin-eater, before muttering an incantation under his breath. Next he took the antique fountain pen from his pocket and squeezed its ink chamber. Drops became a flood, covering the rooftop before him and flowing down the side of the building. Ned watched in awe as a wash of inky darkness enveloped the museum’s neighbouring streets, walkways and lights.

  “Well, do ya need an invitation?” smiled the sin-eater, before motioning down to the street below.

  A moment later both Ned and a recovered Lucy had been scooped up in George’s powerful arms. Two bounds of his legs and the air was in Ned’s face, the ground rushing up to meet him.

  “Geo—” managed Ned.

  There was a sharp tug and the great gorilla’s muscles flexed, squeezing the air out of his two packages. The lamp-post he’d latched on to groaned noisily, his arm using it to slingshot the ape over the museum’s railings and into its grand courtyard.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” said Lucy. She closed her eyes and her face quickly soured. “He’s inside.”

  The combination of Jonny Magik’s spell and the Tortellini boys’ move on Scotland Yard had at least left the entrance unguarded. It had not done anything, however, to open the reinforced steel doors or tamper with the alarm.

  “Ned?” said George.

  “George?” said Ned.

  “The door, old bean, it won’t open itself and my fists are a tad noisy.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Of the many lessons Ned’s dad had given him, working locks in all their forms had been one of the first. “This will get you out of scrapes before you even know you’re in them,” he had constantly told him. What Terry had not known back then was that he and his wife would be the ones in the “scrape” and that Ned would be the one trying to get them out of it.

  Ned touched the door handle. He couldn’t see its inner workings, but he could ‘feel’ them. Where a locksmith uses his tools to test for tension, before trying to turn the tumblers within, Ned used his ring. He had to “Tell” the inner workings to move, and when they couldn’t, he would Tell them to move in the opposite direction. It was a subtle art and Ned was rather good at it. The air at his finger crackled and the bolts in the door turned.

  “Voilà!”

  “That is an annoyingly cool trick,” said a clearly impressed Lucy.

  “But I dare say rather handy,” added George. “Though it does still leave us with the issue of their alarms,” he added, now pointing to a security camera behind the door and its blinking red light.

  Ned turned to his clockwork mouse, who was now on the ground and staring at the camera suspiciously.

  “Any ideas, Whiskers?”

  The Debussy Mark Twelve shook his head.

  “Give me a second, I’m going to try something new,” breathed Ned.

  This was what he’d argued for with his dad. He was going to try something that wasn’t in the Engineer’s Manual. He couldn’t just break the camera; that would trigger the alarm. Ned had to go deeper. If he was able to set off car alarms when he got stressed, then there had to be a way for him to connect to the museum’s security, to project his mind outwards and into the circuits inside.<
br />
  He closed his eyes and “focused”. He thought of the camera’s inner workings. The tiny metal parts, the wires that went into the wall. He urged the currents with his mind. He pushed them and pulled them till slowly, then suddenly –

  Pop.

  A tiny plume of smoke wafted from the back of the camera and its light went dead.

  “Ned?” asked Lucy.

  “Yeah?”

  “How did you do that?”

  “Honestly?”

  Both of his friends gave the other a look and then nodded quietly.

  “I have no idea.”

  Which was, as it turned out, almost entirely true.

  ***

  Back in the control room, Fox watched as one of the feeds blinked an angry red.

  “S-sir, m-main access! It’s been breached!” stuttered Mr Vole.

  Fox looked at the monitor and blinked. There was a boy and a girl. Somehow they had just managed to open the door’s impregnable lock, and by their feet was what looked like a grey and white mouse. More alarming was the vast gorilla that appeared to be talking to them, who then pointed directly at the camera. The boy shut his eyes tight – then the monitor, all of the monitors, went dark.

  “Give the order, Mr Vole,” said Fox, whilst quickly unholstering his gun and heading for the door.

  “I can’t, sir, we’ve lost power. Comms are down, everything’s down – we’ve lost our eyes and ears.”

  Which was true, but only half the story. What they did not realise was that, in addition to the museum’s security system, Ned had taken down the power grid for the whole of Bloomsbury.

  ***

  George, Ned and Lucy had only been inside a moment when a frantic guard came rushing by. He stopped suddenly and squinted down his torch’s beam of light.

  “What are you two doing here? The museum is closed and, well, it’s not safe. We’re being invaded.”