“It’s OK,” said Lucy. “We’re quite capable of looking after ourselves, thank you.”
The guard looked thrown.
“Oh right, well … um …” He clicked the button on the radio at his chest. Nothing but static. “You had better come with me.”
Which was when George’s head loomed out of the shadows. The security man looked up and whimpered softly.
“Children,” said the guard, “get behind me. Section one of the security code’s rule book: keep to an orderly line, don’t run with scissors, never play with matches, proceed to the nearest rally point in the event of an emergency and … and … always eat your greens!”
George grunted and the now-incoherent man dropped his torch in complete and utter horror.
“Oh, Mummy.”
“I am terribly sorry, but it really is for the best,” rumbled George sympathetically, before clenching his fist and dropping it on the guard’s head like a hammer. There was a soft thud and the man crumpled to a jangle of limbs on the floor.
“I did so hate having to do that, he seemed like such a nice chap,” huffed the ape.
“Actually, George, I think you did him a favour,” smirked Lucy.
Ned was growing impatient. The only lead to his missing parents was somewhere in the building and he could hear the running footsteps of the police outside.
“Guys, we can send him flowers later. The thief? My parents?”
“All right, all right. No need to get worked up, old bean.”
Past Greek sculptures and Roman friezes, beyond the Egyptian mummies and their ancient hieroglyphics, they came to a crossroads. Whiskers squeaked, sniffing the air and bobbing his head in all directions.
Lucy swayed very slightly, her new senses guiding her.
“It’s this way.”
She led her two friends to a vast library. Lying unconscious on its floor were more than a dozen men. Some from the museum’s own security, others from Scotland Yard and another lot that Ned had never come across before, in matching grey suits. The Debussy Mark Twelve sniffed at their bodies in turn.
“Alive?” asked Ned.
The mouse nodded.
At the back of the room a case of books yawned open, a secret doorway to the stairs beyond daring them to enter.
“Whiskers?”
“Squeak?”
“Lights.”
A second later and they were walking down a narrow spiral staircase, with Whiskers and his spotlight eyes leading the way.
“Come on, George, hurry up,” urged Ned to his oversized friend, who was having genuine trouble getting his bulk down the stairs.
“George, you know a diet might not be a bad idea,” said Lucy as she pushed him onwards.
“I think you’re fine as you are, madam.”
“George!” Lucy squealed back.
“Shh! We’re here,” said Ned.
A thick metal door stood in front of them, yawning open. On it was a plaque reading:
VAULT X
“And we’re not alone,” announced Lucy, who suddenly looked as though she’d swallowed something bitter. “The thief’s nearby. I can feel it.”
Vault X
hiskers, you take a look, all right, boy?” said Ned. “If you spot anything, anything at all, you come and find us.”
The little mouse must have been seized by a sudden bout of courage. He promptly saluted and scurried into the dark.
“And Whiskers?”
There was a squeak from somewhere up ahead.
“Don’t get caught.”
Ned didn’t know what to expect from Vault X, but it was surprisingly stark. Row upon row of marked crates were stacked on top of each other as far as the eye could see.
A short while later there was a squeak ahead, followed by the return of Ned’s highly agitated mouse, moving fast. Whatever Whiskers had seen had obviously spooked him, and he blinked his eyes at Ned in a fury of Morse code.
“H, U, R, R, Y.”
Then the mouse turned and headed back into the dark. Ned was all set to break into a run when George stopped him.
“Now now, young man. We don’t have a clue what we’re up against here. I’ll go first. I rather think this might need a little muscle and, I shouldn’t venture, a bit of a roar.”
“Don’t be daft, George, I’m an Engineer, I can handle myself.”
“No doubt just as well as your parents, who were bested by whatever lies ahead. You will do as you’re told or you and I will have our first altercation!”
George’s prickled fur and flared nostrils made it quite clear that the ape was not going to be budged. He lumbered to the end of the corridor and turned a corner. A moment later, Ned heard his voice: it grew louder and more flustered till there was a heavy thump. It was the kind of thump that suggested fur landing on marble.
“That doesn’t sound good,” whispered Lucy.
My parents and now George, thought Ned. The thief was good.
“We’re just going to have to be careful.”
Which was when he finally called on his familiar.
“Gorrn, you need to shadow us. Get this right and I’ll forgive you for what happened at home.”
Gorrn’s two glowing eyes oozed up from the darkness and shook from side to side.
“Unt.”
“No? Oh, Gorrn, not now! I don’t have time for your ‘feelings’,” pleaded Ned.
“Unt,” insisted the shadow.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! Please, Gorrn, would you very kindly cover us and – if it pleases you – would you do your very best to not mess this up.”
“Arr,” agreed Gorrn, and the Medic and Engineer were taken into his oozy darkness.
The phenomenon that is familial-envelopment not only makes it near-impossible to see its “guests”, but also muffles any sound they might make, to the point of being utterly silent. Additionally, and in this particular case rather importantly, it also prevents any scent that those enveloped might carry from escaping said envelopment.
They paced down the corridor, cocooned invisibly in the shadow of Gorrn, past their friend’s vast snoring body, and came to the source of Ned’s woes.
The thief was wrestling with a crowbar and opening one of Vault X’s countless wooden crates. The one he had chosen was large; inside it, a huge slab of polished stone. Every millimetre was covered in markings. But what was most strange was its condition. It looked as if it had just been carved, as though it was somehow impervious to the erosion of time.
“Look,” whispered Lucy through the folds of Gorrn’s ooze.
“I know. Shh,” Ned nudged back.
They had seen the markings before. The Engineer’s Manual had several of them embossed on to its cover and the Source of the Veil’s power, buried deep in the mountain of Annapurna, had them carved all over its entrance. According to Benissimo, they were the primary signs of power. Whatever the inscription was, it was old.
The thief in front of them was spidery thin and dressed in clothes that were so black they seemed to almost suck the light from the air. Ned thought he had the kind of face that belongs to people who enjoy acts of cruelty. A long sharp nose, thin lips and oily slicked-back hair, thinning just a little at the top. His glistening skin was grey-white and he had large bags under his eyes, accentuated by sharp cheekbones. Even the way he moved his body and bony fingers was creepy somehow, and for a moment he looked like a creature made from shadows, gleefully going about the business of taking what was not his.
The man reached to one side and opened what looked like an old-fashioned music box with a pearl lid and golden feet. He gave a high chuckle and then he turned its tiny handle. Ned watched in awe as the light around the stone started to fold in on itself and the ancient tablet disintegrated, pulling itself into countless particles of glittering dust before floating through the air, right into the box and the thief’s greedy hands.
With his job done, the thief snapped the pearl lid shut and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a vial of shiny liq
uid. The very same liquid that Ned had found on the floor of his home.
“Guns and daggers, this is Vault X!” came the distant voice of Benissimo. “Quickly, Couteau, the Yard boys aren’t far behind.”
“And the trap is sprung,” said the thief smugly, before hurling the vial at the vault’s wall.
The glass shattered and the liquid spread in a great circular mess. Ned couldn’t understand what he was seeing at first; it was like the man had just created an instant, liquid, shimmering …
“… mirror,” Ned mouthed silently.
A smug smile, a glance down the corridor and the thief stepped through.
Ned stepped free of Gorrn’s oozy embrace and walked up to the makeshift mirror.
“Lucy, I have to follow him. Stay here and wait for Benissimo. If you don’t tell them what happened, the police will think the circus is behind the break-in.”
Lucy scowled. “Oh, so now we do want to be the ‘Hero of Annapurna’, do we? Ned Armstrong, I thought I’d missed you. I thought we had an understanding. Remember on the mountain? ‘I’ve got you’? Well, it works both ways. If you think you’re putting a finger through that thing without me, then you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Lucy, it’s too dangerous. I can’t let you take the risk.”
At this point Lucy’s expression oscillated between genuine frustration and teary-eyed rage.
“Why do you always make it about you? You don’t get to ‘let me’ do anything! Your mum was the world to me for more than ten years, Ned. I owe her my life and I’ve got just as much right to go after her as you!”
“Lucy, we don’t have time for – ow! Whiskers, what was that for?”
In an attempt to get his attention, the Debussy Mark Twelve had sunk its ceramic teeth into Ned’s ankle. Ned turned to look at what the mouse was pointing urgently towards. He gawped in horror. The liquid mirror was sliding down the wall, and fast. They had seconds at best to make up their minds.
“Fine. We’ll both go,” he said.
Then, without hesitating, Ned and Lucy jumped through, closely followed by a reluctant mouse and familiar.
More than anything, they were united by the simple fact that not a single one of them had any idea of where it was they were actually going.
The Mirror in the Museum
ed had discovered several things about travelling by mirror. He knew how it felt when you passed through; he knew that the journey was almost instantaneous, and he knew that it involved a substantial leap of faith. When stepping through his kitchen mirror, he had thought he was walking into a safe house. This time he was under no such illusion.
As soon as his foot touched solid ground, Ned’s ring finger hummed with life. He “Saw” the air molecules being drawn together with a cold snap, and three razor-sharp needles of ice materialised beside him. Air to ice – quick but useful.
He looked around. He and Lucy were in a small room, surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of antique mirrors and almost completely enveloped in thick steam. There was only one door: heavy, aged and hewn from dark iron. Through the layers of white on white came the constant noise of pounding metal.
“Save the needles for later,” said Lucy. “We’re alone here – I think he went through that door. I can feel him, on the other side. And there’s something else with him, not just the thief.”
Ned let the ice needles turn to harmless vapour and peered through the steam.
“Some ‘thing’ else?”
“It’s not clear, I can sense another being but … I – I don’t know what it is.”
Lucy’s skin had turned pale, and her eyes had taken on that faraway look again.
“Careful,” said Ned. “You don’t look too good. And Jonny Magik isn’t here to help you.”
Despite himself, he must have let some of his bitterness into his voice. Lucy’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, Ned! You’re worse than George! He’s on our side, OK? And he understands … things about my powers. I don’t have time to explain now. Anyway, while we’re on the subject of powers, since when could you shut down an entire security system?”
Lucy’s fists were clenched and her lips unnervingly pouty. They had never fought before, though Ned sensed that she was quite prepared to now. Besides which, she was right. There were things he hadn’t told her, not least of which was the letter of warning from Madame Oublier.
“All right, all right, I’m sorry.”
Lucy continued pouting; the apology clearly wasn’t big enough.
“And for just now, before we stepped through?” she demanded.
Ned could barely look at her.
“Especially for that. I know what Mum means to you, Lucy, and you’re right, it’s not just about me, it’s never been just about me. Thank you for coming with me, err, and for wanting to. Mum’s lucky to have you, we all are.”
Lucy’s hands unclenched and her face softened.
“How about we get back to the ‘thing’ that’s in here with us,” said Ned. “How do you know?”
“I can feel what the thief is feeling, whether I want to or not. He’s cruel, arrogant and vain, but there’s something else, something’s waiting for him and I can’t read it … It’s like it’s alive but it doesn’t feel anything.”
“Great,” he said. “I can’t wait.”
“Don’t worry, you’ve got me and Gorrn, and Whiskers,” said Lucy.
There was a low rumble in the shadows behind them and a nervous squeak by their feet. Neither of which made Ned feel any better. He looked around again. “I don’t understand. Why so many mirrors? Surely he only needs one to come back to?”
“I suppose if he knew he was being followed, then all he’d have to do is break the one he’d stepped through, and there’d be no way of tracking him down.”
“Smart.”
“No, in his case I think it’s more like cunning.”
They stepped towards the one doorway leading away from the steam-filled chamber. As they got closer, Ned felt the heat coming from what turned out to be the metal walls of the room. He froze. These walls weren’t so different from the ones in his dream and brought with them the memory of the voice. The thought of it speaking to him made him shudder and he forced the feeling of dread to the back of his mind.
“You OK?”
“Yeah, it’s just a bit … familiar.”
As they passed through the door, there was a squeak from Whiskers. The mouse sniffed at the steam-filled air warily and flashed its wind-up eyes. A long dash and three dots; “B”, one dot and a single dash; “A”, then a “D”.
“BAD? You think? Whiskers, we just followed the most wanted man on the planet and you want to tell me this is BAD?” whispered Ned.
More blinking.
“V E R Y.”
City of Iron
ed sent Gorrn and Whiskers to scout on ahead for any sign of Carrion or the “thing” he had come to meet. The air was heavy with the smell of iron, and the vast chamber they found themselves in was like the belly of a metal whale, in that it seemed to breathe. Its walls pulsed, every surface alive with the never-ending chatter of moving parts, turning gears, crane arms, pistons and conveyor belts.
Where they had frozen on the streets of London, they now boiled from the heat of smelting metal and were deafened by the constant clamour of machines. But it was the sheer size that was so stunning. The place seemed to be some kind of factory, its walls rising up like iron skyscrapers, all joined together by a sprawling web of steel rails, bridges and walkways. There was only one place Ned knew of that it could be.
“Gearnish,” he murmured. “Stay close.”
If Ned was right, they were somewhere in the minutians’ home city. Somewhere in these iron halls were the Tinker’s family. Or at least he dared to hope. What struck him, as they inched their way across its iron-grated floor, was that the great giants of industry who had built the city, diminutive as they were, were also completely absent. How was it possible? The entire factory, with its dizzying
number of moving parts, had no one to actually run it and yet everything moved with perfect timed precision. To Ned’s young Engineer mind, it was a moving metal wonder. To the fourteen-year-old boy that he also was, it was a place that he’d sooner leave.
Something was very wrong. As part of his upbringing, training and journey through life, Ned had been given an instinctive gift when it came to mechanics. An ability to see how things work, how they come together. But ever since connecting with the Source of the Veil’s power, that gift had grown. When he focused his mind, the molecular structure of objects, and none more so than metal, had a certain resonance. Like the security camera at the museum, with its wiring and circuitry, Ned sensed a larger connection guiding the machinery, but here and for the first time he also sensed actual intent.
As though there were some kind of metal mind behind the machines.
“Concealment” and “Focus”, that’s what his dad would say would get him through this awful place. He only hoped that they would be enough.
The walkways were dimly lit and every pipe and vent spewed out great gusts of noisy steam, so much so that it was hard to get a proper sense of where everything was, especially as nothing seemed to stay still for any given time. Abandoned as the factory was, it was also the perfect place to go unseen.
Ned and Lucy zigzagged through a maze of iron pillars. At times ducking, as huge metal crane arms swung over their heads. The heat was stifling, but not nearly as staggering as the noise. Clattering, turning, drilling, pumping, a wash of countless moving pieces in the great jigsaw of a machine through which they now walked.
“This doesn’t feel right,” murmured Lucy. “The thing he’s come to see. I can’t read it … it’s not right somehow, not real.”
Ned thought of the thing the Tinker had mentioned. The Central Intelligence. Is that what they were both somehow sensing?
And despite the heat he shivered.
Lucy looked terrible; sweat was now pouring down her face and the expression of disgust she’d worn when tracking the thief had changed to something else – not revulsion or fear, but confusion. Ned took her arm.
The Gold Thief Page 9