Prometheus was the first one to speak. ‘At least if we all end being hung, it’s no less than we deserve for being stupid enough to go along with the plan in the first place, I suppose.’
Quaint grinned. ‘That’s the spirit!’
Chapter VIII
The Needle in a Haystack
The fifth of February did not come soon enough for Cornelius Quaint. His plan was laid out before him and all his troupe was prepared – nervous perhaps, anxious definitely – but prepared. Of his band, he was the only of them that had actually seen Polly North in person; the rest of the troupe were relying on his roughly sketched description.
By late afternoon on the day of the gala dinner, disguised as hot-chestnut sellers, Quaint and Butter had encamped themselves at the top of The Mall, awaiting the inevitable procession of horse-drawn carriages that would be soon ferrying Queen Victoria’s dinner guests into Buckingham Palace. From their position, every carriage would have to pass by them to get inside the palace, and their eyes were already as keen as blades, scouring every carriage’s occupants intently. Quaint could see guards just outside the palace gates, one either side in sentry boxes, followed by more lining the path from the entrance into the main palace.
Should Polly somehow slip through the net, the conjuror had more than one trick up his sleeve, naturally. He had positioned two groups of his troupe at a safe distance from the palace on the east and west sides of the road. As for their alternative options, Quaint had given instructions that Plan B was only to be attempted should they not manage to prevent the Professor’s entrance into the palace. As for Plan C – well, if he was being honest, there was not much in the way of a Plan C, so it hardly seemed worthwhile discussing it.
The stage was set. All it needed was its star attraction.
By six o’clock in the evening, lines of sleek black carriages began to arrive. One by one the assorted dignitaries, ambassadors, the prominent and the affluent, approached the palace gates. The entrance had been suitably decorated in theme with the event. On each stone pillar on either side of the vast iron gates, stood an identical twelve-foot statue of the jackal-headed Egyptian god Anubis, carrying a torch that breached the sky, its flame snapping and biting at the early February wind. From the statues stretched a procession of paper lanterns, each one decorated with a hieroglyphic symbol, leading to the archway that would take the guests into the palace’s quadrangle. The entire journey from the main gates, through the stone arch and into the palace itself, was carpeted in red. It was rare for Her Majesty to hold an event such as this, but when she had received word of Professor North’s great find in Egypt, Queen Victoria was captivated by the tale.
Garbed with a cloth cap upon his head, Quaint rattled off some highly convincing street patter, boasting of his wares, and actually, he and Butter had done quite a good trade since they had set up shop.
‘Do you know, Butter, if I ever give up the circus business, I think that I wouldn’t mind a job like this,’ said Quaint, warming his hands over the coal-burning brazier.
‘Do not say such things, boss,’ Butter scowled, from beneath his fur-lined hood.
‘No, I’m serious! The open air, just a brazier, some chestnuts, and hardly a care in the world. I think the simple life would suit me.’
‘I disagree most entirely,’ said Butter. ‘Do not joke about giving up circus. I do not think I would enjoy ticking the things over again for you.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ baulked Quaint. ‘You managed perfectly well in my absence before, didn’t you? Well? Didn’t you?’
Butter’s lined face was decorated with dancing shadows from the fire, and there was something in the corner of his eye. Quaint looked at it, glinting in the amber light. Were his eyes deceiving him? Was that—?’
‘Butter, are you… crying?’ gasped Quaint, catching hold of the diminutive Inuit.
‘Not at all, boss,’ Butter said, breaking himself free. ‘Just… smoke in eyes.’
Quaint sniffed, looking up at the stars. ‘Ah… you’d be all right without me, Butter. You all would. But don’t worry… once this nasty business with the Professor is sorted out, I won’t be going anywhere. Well, at least until I die, and depending on what you happen to believe, that might be a long time coming. Just make sure that you’re not planning on going anywhere, my Inuit friend. I couldn’t find my socks without you.’
‘Do not worry, boss,’ grinned Butter. ‘From now on I stick like glue!’
With Buckingham Palace in sight, Prometheus and the Chinese twins were positioned further down the road, watching the parade of horse-drawn carriages clatter past. On the opposite side of the road, a little further up towards the palace, Ruby and Jeremiah were sat on a blanket with a pair of opera glasses each, scouring each and every carriage in an effort to spot Professor North. In a tree above their heads, Peregrine spied the steady stream of carriages through a telescope, stopping every once in a while to take a swig from a small hip flask.
‘Is the boss sure about this?’ asked Peregrine. ‘I mean, even if we manage to spot this woman, what’re we s’posed to do? Drag her out of her cab by her ears?’
Ruby scowled up at him. ‘Perry, we’ve been over this, weren’t you paying any attention? We just have to sit tight, and stick to the plan. There’s no need to panic.’
‘Easy for you to say!’ said the dwarf. ‘I’m sat up a tree opposite Buckingham Palace with a battalion of guards only a matter of yards away, and to top it off I’ve got pine needles down my long johns. I’m going to be scratching my knackers all night long.’
‘At least it’ll give you an excuse,’ said Jeremiah.
‘Just keep your eyes open,’ said Ruby. ‘We won’t have to go anywhere near the palace. Mr Q knows what he’s doing, all right?’
‘Butter, what the hell am I doing?’ asked Cornelius Quaint of his Inuit sidekick.
‘Serving chestnuts?’ offered Butter.
‘Besides that!’ snapped Quaint. ‘I’ve gone soft! Either that or all those weeks at sea have set my balance off-kilter. I should be demanding that all carriages to be halted and ensuring that Polly can’t get within twelve feet of the Queen! Instead, I’m just stood here waiting for things to happen. That’s not like me, Butter. That’s not like me at all.’
‘Destine say ‘All good things come to those who wait’, yes?’ said Butter. ‘So all we need is to be patient, and things will work out.’
Quaint grumbled under his breath. ‘I’m not entirely sure you could call a feisty archaeologist whose very touch can kill you within a month a good thing… but I take your point. We don’t have much choice but to wait.’
The clattering of a carriage’s wheels signalled a new arrival to the palace gates, and Butter licked the nib of a pencil and scratched off a tally on a notepad. ‘That is thirteenth carriage, boss. Yet still no sign of Professor.’
Just at that moment, there was a loud crack as a firework exploded into the night sky, showering blue-green shards of light into the air.
‘The signal, boss!’ spat Butter. ‘The Professor is spotted!’
Quaint buttoned up his moth-eaten coat. ‘Then let’s find out if my plan really is as reckless as Destine thinks!’
Moments before, Prometheus had called ahead to Yin and Yang. A carriage had just rolled past their position and its sole occupant was a female matching Professor North’s description. The strongman had followed his employer’s plan to the letter and lit the fuse on a firework stuck in the ground – the signal that their target was sighted.
‘Go, lads! Go!’ Prometheus yelled.
Yin and Yang were off like hounds chasing a fox, sprinting down the road as fast as their legs could power them.
Yang looked over at his brother. ‘A sovereign says I can make the jump.’
‘Forget it, brother. I’m faster than you,’ replied Yin.
‘You are mistaken, my twin. It is I that is faster.’
‘You are dreaming.’
‘So are you if you think that
you can make that jump!’
‘I can make it.’
‘So can I.’
‘Prove it.’
‘Watch me!’ snapped Yang, as he pushed himself ahead.
The Professor’s carriage was now just feet away. Luckily, the horse was not in a hurry, allowing its passenger a chance to savour the sights as it approached Buckingham Palace. As he ran, Yang reached out at full stretch, but the carriage was still just beyond him. He looked over to his side to see Yin draw level with him.
‘Catapult!’ yelled Yin.
Yang shot him a look of horror. ‘At the speed that thing is going? One slip and I’ll be squashed flat!’
‘You can do it! I’ll give you a boost,’ insisted Yin.
It was rare for Yang to consider the inherent dangers of his trade. Since birth, he and his twin had gladly thrown themselves from great heights, balanced precariously on rooftops and bounced about like ricocheting bullets – but this was a lot more complicated. The carriage was in motion and so was he. His speed had to match the carriage’s perfectly and then take into account their relative momentum. One misstep and it would all be over. Yang enjoyed the thrill of adrenalin as much as the next man – unless the next man happened to be his twin brother.
With the carriage six feet away and still moving, Yang quickly hopped into Yin’s hands. Yin flipped Yang up through the air with all his strength. The wind screamed in Yang’s ears as everything blurred around him. His fingertips touched the carriage’s roof, and found stability. As he vaulted over it, he tucked his hand into his coat pocket and threw something at the door. A splodge of yellow paint splattered against the wood with a thud. The coach driver spun around at the noise, catching the sight of a young Chinese man flying through the air. Had his astonishment allowed him to speak, he might have noted how rare such an occurrence was for the time of year.
The yellow paint marking the right-hand side of the Professor’s carriage stood out like a sore thumb amongst the procession making its way steadily towards the palace.
‘Did you see the signal?’ asked Peregrine, dropping down from the tree.
‘I did, and let’s hope the boys picked the right coach,’ said Ruby. ‘You know what to look out for, right? A coach marked with yellow paint.’
‘Like that one?’ said Peregrine excitedly, pointing to a coach approaching their position. ‘So now it’s my turn, eh? I’ve not been looking forward to this.’
‘It’s just like the human cannonball act, remember?’ insisted Jeremiah.
‘Yeah, but where’s the cannon?’ the dwarf asked.
‘Right here, lads,’ said Prometheus, thundering towards Ruby’s gang through the trees. ‘Sorry I’m a wee bit late. I started running just as soon as the twins set off. Are we ready?’
‘We are now, yes,’ confirmed Ruby. ‘Good luck, Perry.’
‘I’m gonna need more than just luck!’ grumbled Perry, as he pulled on a leather skullcap helmet and snapped on a pair of goggles. ‘I hope your aim is good, Prom, or I’ll make a real mess of the pavement!’
Prometheus lifted the dwarf up into his huge hands and sat him upon his shoulder like a parrot. ‘Don’t worry, lad… I’m an excellent shot.’
Cradling Peregrine against his shoulder, the strongman began running towards the paint-marked carriage. His heavy feet slapped against the road, and as he got within range, he lifted his arm and threw the dwarf with all his might. Peregrine flew through the air towards the target – and missed it by an inch. Crashing through the carriage’s window, he landed in an ungainly mess on the floor, wrapped up in a pair of purple curtains and covered with bits of wood. His bearded face grinned up at a bemused Professor Polly North.
‘It’s raining midgets!’ she shrieked.
Peregrine readjusted his goggles. ‘Dwarf, if you don’t mind.’
‘Midget. Dwarf. What’s the difference?’
‘About three inches and a hell of a lot of bad blood.’
‘What do you want with me?’ demanded Polly.
‘Coach company, ma’am,’ said Peregrine, proudly. ‘Urgent inspection.’
‘Via the window? It must be a pretty important inspection!’ cried Polly.
‘All part of the service, ma’am,’ grinned Peregrine. ‘I’ve got an important message to deliver, see, and I’m gonna to have to insist that you stop this coach.’
‘Not likely! I’m on my way to see the damn Queen!’ squawked Polly.
‘I know that, Professor North.’
Polly’s anger wavered. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘Just stop the coach, eh?’
‘Because you say so?’
‘No,’ said Peregrine. ‘Because my boss does.’
‘And just who is your boss, might I ask? I’ve got a good mind to—’
‘Cornelius Quaint,’ said Peregrine.
Polly squinted at the name. ‘Did you just say Cornelius… Quaint?’
‘The one and only.’
Polly thumped hard on the roof of her coach. ‘Stop this coach!’
Chapter IX
The Bitter Pill
Quaint spotted the coach a few minutes later where its driver had pulled it onto the side of the road. He saw the congregation around it and smiled. Prometheus, Yin and Yang, Ruby, Jeremiah and Perry (his fantastic troupe) had performed a miracle, and a pay rise was definitely in order.
‘She’s a right natterjack, this professor of yours!’ said Peregrine, jerking his head towards the carriage. ‘Are you sure you don’t want some earplugs, boss?’
‘No need, Perry,’ said Quaint, patting the dwarf’s shoulder. ‘I’m the one that’ll be doing all the talking. You didn’t let her touch you, did you?’
‘No, boss… I kept her at arm’s reach, just like you said. Anyway, she’s got gloves on and you said only skin contact spreads that plague, right?’
Cornelius Quaint picked up bits of splintered wood from the coach’s seat, courtesy of Peregrine’s unorthodox entry, and flopped himself down opposite Professor North. He offered her the briefest of smiles as he reacquainted his eyes with her face. The unforgiving English weather had not yet faded her tanned skin since her return from Egypt, her cheekbones were still as crafted as ever and her firm jaw was clenched determinedly. Her long hair was swept up from behind into a bun atop her head, and a diamanté tiara sat pinned into place. Beside her in the rear of the coach was a shining golden idol of Egyptian origin – a gift for Queen Victoria, Quaint assumed. Polly looked the exact opposite of the dust-clad archaeologist that he had met just over a month previously in the camp of the Clan Scarabs. Now she looked like a princess. As pleasant thoughts began to float across his mind, he snapped himself back to attention. He was just about to open his mouth when Polly beat him to it.
‘The moment a Chinaman somersaulted over the roof of my coach and a dwarf blasted through my bloody window, I should have known that my bad luck had to run in three’s!’ she snapped, angrily. ‘Not that it’s not good to see you again, Quaint, but you’ve got ridiculously bad timing!’
‘Actually, for once it’s impeccable,’ Quaint replied.
Polly laughed. ‘Oh, really? And why is that, may I ask?’
‘You might not believe me, and you certainly won’t like it.’
‘Very well,’ Polly said, folding her hands into her lap. ‘You watched my back whilst we were in Egypt. That gives you about five minutes, so start talking.’
Considerably less than five minutes later…
‘I don’t believe a word of it!’ snapped the Professor. ‘What the hell possessed you to come up with a cock and bull story like that?’
‘I haven’t finished yet, if you’d only—’
‘I’ve heard enough already! All right, I admit it; I took Aloysius Bedford’s journal from that old man in Bara Mephista. I stole it whilst he was asleep. I saw it there and I just thought… I don’t know, I thought it was fate or something. I know it was wrong, but for twenty years Bedford’s studies were lost, and if I h
adn’t taken that journal it would never have led me to the Pharaoh’s Cradle!’
‘And that’s the problem,’ said Quaint. ‘The Cradle isn’t all that you unearthed in Umkaza, is it?’
‘All this talk about me being infected with some sort of invisible disease is just rubbish! I feel perfectly fine!’
‘Right now perhaps,’ said Quaint. ‘Whilst all this excitement is keeping your heart pumping, but it’s just an illusion; something that I know a thing or two about. You’re dying, Polly… and if you so much as touch the Queen, your infection will spread onto her and anyone else that you touch, and then they will die too. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’
‘You’re being preposterous!’ insisted Polly. ‘I’m going to go to the palace tonight whether you want me to or not, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!’
‘Actually… there is,’ Quaint said, pulling open his jacket to reveal a pistol.
Polly glared at the gun. ‘You’d shoot me?’
‘Desperate times, remember?’ said Quaint.
‘You’ve spent too much time with Faroud!’ snapped Polly. ‘His filth has rubbed off on you. Where is that Clan Scarab thug, anyway? I’m surprised he’s not here holding your leash!’
‘He died saving my life and many others, if you must know,’ replied Quaint, recalling how his old comrade in arms had perished with the destruction of the Hades Consortium’s base in Egypt. ‘And it’s not too late for you to save lives too. All you have to do is turn this coach around.’
‘As tantalising an offer as that sounds, I’ve sort of set my sights on meeting the Queen,’ said Professor North, with a childish kink to her voice. ‘What you’re saying is so outlandish that it’s almost laughable, Quaint! If you could only hear yourself. You’re trying to make me believe that Cho-zen Li knowingly infected me in order to kill the Queen, but he’s the one that sponsored my dig in Umkaza, remember? He spent thousands of pounds on my studies over the past few years!’
The Lazarus Curse Page 6