The Amber Pendant

by Imogen White

  “And what’s that?” She pointed at the loose piece of paper poking from the front.

  Rui flipped the book to the beginning. “It’s a newspaper cutting,” he remarked, studying it, “which Mr Gupta has carefully attached inside.”

  “What’s it about?” Rose strained to see it.

  “It’s an article from The Times of India dated June, 1863.”

  “That’s over forty years ago.”

  Rui nodded. “The headline reads: ‘The Cursed Scriptures Strike Again.’ Rose.” He glanced up. “It’s about the accident – the one in which Mr Gupta lost his hand.”

  “That’s a strange keepsake,” Rose said.

  “And look here, this photograph shows him meeting the British expedition leader who returned the cursed scrolls. It’s taken at the docks in Bombay.” Rose looked over his shoulder.

  The black and white picture showed a younger-looking Mr Gupta exchanging a scrolled parchment with a stony-faced army man, whose head had been circled in black. On Mr Gupta’s left-hand side stood a beautiful lady wearing a sari, whose long dark hair reached her waist.

  “Why has he ringed that man like that?” Rose asked. “And who is the lady?”

  “It’s intriguing, isn’t it?” Rui traced his fingers along the caption beneath. “It says this is Mr Gupta from the Jaipur Museum, accompanied by his wife, accepting the return of ancient Indian scrolls from British expedition leader, Sergeant Anthony Funnel.”

  They both stared at each other.

  “Anthony Funnel!” Rose’s eyes narrowed. “That’s who Enna mentioned in her caravan earlier.”

  “Yes, the boy Miss T once knew. Enna said Anthony Funnel helped overcome the guardian of Verrulf’s pendant many years ago.” He ran his hand through his black hair. “Surely this is more than just coincidence, Rose.” He passed the cutting to her.

  “So that’s Anthony Funnel.” Rose examined the photograph. He looked like a very sad young man, Rose thought. His thin lips were cast at a lopsided angle across his narrow face. Then Rose caught sight of something else. “It can’t be!” She scrutinized the strange disc-shaped pendant hanging around his neck. “Rui – I think he’s wearing Verrulf’s pendant. Look!”

  “Elephas Maximus, he is! But how did he come to have it? Didn’t Enna tell us that the pendant had disappeared after its old guardian had been defeated?”

  “That Anthony Funnel must have taken it after all. We must let Enna know.” Rose’s mind started ticking like a speeding clock. “So what happened next? I mean after this picture were taken for the newspaper? You said Mr Gupta lost his hand in an accident, or something?”

  “Indeed…” Rui returned his attention to the article. “Yes, the train crash,” Rui mumbled to himself as he hurriedly read. Rose tingled with anticipation and tried to crane over Rui’s shoulder.

  “This says that Mr Gupta travelled to Bombay to greet the arriving expedition – that must be why Funnel was there,” said Rui, looking up. “The scriptures he was returning were extremely valuable. They contained ancient spells – some of the oldest known to exist. His bringing them back to India caused quite a stir –” He paused to read further. “It mentions that the maharajah had planned a grand ceremony to celebrate the scriptures’ return. They were to be exhibited in the newly appointed museum in Jaipur.”

  “Where Mr Gupta worked,” Rose added. “Right?”

  Rui nodded. “But a terrible fire broke out. The train derailed and there were many fatalities, including Mr Gupta’s own wife!” Rui looked up. “Gracious, I had no idea.”

  “Poor Mr Gupta,” Rose said, and she meant it.

  Rui carried on. “It then describes Mr Gupta’s heroic behaviour – you know, running the rescue operation despite having lost his own hand.”

  “And his wife,” Rose interjected.

  “The scriptures themselves perished in the flames,” Rui continued. He stared at Rose. “Even today people talk about those scriptures being cursed, you know. That the spells they contained were evil – some even say it was their curse started the fire.”

  “What about that Anthony Funnel? Did he survive too?”

  “Ah, let me see.” Rui ran his finger along the article. “Here is his name. No.” He looked at her. “It says he too perished in the flames and was buried on Indian soil close by.”

  “So Enna was right. He did die abroad.”

  “It would appear so. But—”

  Rap! Rap! Rap!

  A series of urgent knocks came from the front door below.

  They stood as one.

  RAP! RAP! RAP!

  The same sequence, but louder.

  “Enna!” Rose said.

  “We can’t be sure,” Rui cautioned. He concealed the book in the waistband of his scruffy breeches, covering it with his jacket. Rose replaced the floorboard and as an afterthought pushed some of the clothes over it.

  Outside the front door, a shadowy figure swung up and down on his heels, smoking a cigarette.

  Rose and Rui rushed down to the lobby. Rose hoped with all her heart to see Enna Lee at the door – they had so much to tell her. Not only had they found Mr Gupta’s book, but they’d also discovered that Anthony Funnel had deceived both Enna and Miss T, and taken Verrulf’s pendant all those years ago. She opened the front door a crack and peered outside.

  But instead of Enna, a policeman wearing a floor-length coat and domed helmet stood with his back to them.

  “H-hello?” Rose stuttered.

  Swinging around, the policeman flicked his cigarette into the basement yard below.

  “Good evening, I’m Jonathan Banks, Detective in Chief of the Hove Constabulary.” He slipped into the lobby. “I wasn’t certain anyone was in.” He pushed the door shut with his back. His auburn moustache twitched as he removed his helmet, revealing neat hair of the same colour that was greased back on either side of a centre parting.

  “Detective!” Rui stepped forward, eyebrows raised. “Welcome, Sir,” he announced with a bow. “I myself am adept in the art of detection and subterfuge. What’s more—”

  A real Sherlock Holmes to help us. About time, Rose thought with relief as Rui continued talking.

  “I have read every Sherlock Holmes novel to date, and—” Rui grappled with the band of his trousers, searching for Mr Gupta’s book.

  “I see,” Banks interrupted and placed his helmet on the dresser. “Now, who is in charge here?”

  “Well I s’pose that’ll be me.” Rose shrugged. “The house is in mourning following our mistress’s death. The other staff have been sent home and the butler is away visiting his mother, so it’s just us two what’s left here.”

  Banks coughed into his leathered fist. “Well, I regret to inform you there’s been a murder. Down on the seafront, this very afternoon,” his deep voice geared up, “and we have reason to believe the gentleman concerned – the deceased – was staying at this address. A man wearing a turban with a missing hand.” As he peeled off his gloves, a tattoo on his wrist flashed momentarily into view, an inky black sun with a human face.

  Rose backed away. The peelers are in on it too! She glanced at Rui, whose hand shot to his mouth.

  Banks leaned forward. “You know this individual I speak of?” His pupils dilated.

  “Yes,” Rui said, stepping between them, purposefully drawing the detective’s attention away from Rose, who he was keen to protect. The waistband of his breeches now sat very high concealing the book that was wedged there. “Mr Gupta was my tutor for my trip to England and a renowned scholar back in my home town of Jaipur. My uncle, the maharajah, will be expecting a thorough investigation, Sir. How did he die?”

  “Strangulation,” Banks grunted. “You say you are nephew to a maharajah?” He appraised Rui’s moth-eaten outfit, his chin pressing against his neck.

  Before Rui could respond, Bahula hurtled down the staircase and into the lobby.

  “THAT monkey!” Banks declared through clenched teeth, as he loosened his collar and s
troked a scratch mark on his neck.

  Bahula hissed at the detective and arched his back. With his tail curled beneath him the monkey sidestepped away.

  “Have you met Bahula before, Sir?” Rui asked, one brow raised.

  “No, no, no, I said that IS a monkey…an unusual house guest in these parts. I suffer from a revulsion of ALL primates…” His words ended in a hiss, revealing teeth blackened at the gum line.

  Bahula scuttled across the tiled floor and sheltered beneath a chair.

  “Anyway,” Banks clicked his heels together, “back to my official business. A witness came forward claiming to have overheard a heated discussion between the deceased and a stranger. A discussion about a book…of some kind.”

  They’re after Mr Gupta’s book! Rose realized with a gulp.

  Banks rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. “We believe this item may be pertinent to the investigation. Have you seen it?” He searched their faces.

  Rose shook her head, her mind running in rings. Could he be the same bloke they’d seen with Mr Gupta in the Pleasure Gardens? He’d worn a similar coat and he was smoking… But he’s a policeman! Rose thought, alarmed.

  Whoever he was, she wanted him gone.

  “No, we ain’t seen a book. Shocking about poor Mr Gupta and thank you kindly for letting us know. Now, you must be awful busy – we won’t keep you.” Rose gestured towards the door.

  “In that case, I wish to inspect his room here. Show me to it.” Banks strode across the lobby, his stale odour trailing behind him.

  “It’s upstairs.” Rose followed, glancing back at Rui.

  On the landing, Rose led the way to Mr Gupta’s room. “In there, Sir.” Rose switched on the light.

  Banks gripped the door frame. The veins in his beetroot neck bulged.

  “Someone’s already been here. Did you not hear anything?” The words twisted from his mouth.

  “No, Sir!” Rose said with feigned shock. “We was out. Not been back long since you came.”

  “Very well.” He stomped off down the stairs with Rose and Rui following behind.

  In the lobby he turned to them. “Should you think of anything, FIND anything, see ANYTHING, you come to the police station and you ask for me, Jonathan Banks.” Banks pulled on his gloves, his fingers splayed. “I’m leading this investigation. Have I made myself clear?” They nodded. “Good.” He pulled up his high collar and walked to the front door, grabbing his helmet on the way.

  “The funeral, Sir!” Rui’s voice sounded reedy. “Mr Gupta must be cremated as soon as possible – it is our faith. There is much to prepare, his family must be informed, and it is important that his body is—”

  “I will see to it after the post-mortem,” Banks scoffed with disinterest as he headed for the entrance.

  They both jumped as the front door slammed shut.

  Rose rushed to Rui. “Do you think it was him with Mr Gupta in the Pleasure Gardens? You saw his tattoo? He smoked too.”

  “Yes, the image of the black sun.” Rui’s lips pinched. “Do you believe he is the man you saw in the vision?”

  “No.” Rose shook her head. “The man I saw had much older-looking hands, and he sounded different.” The memory made her shudder. “He might be the companion who travelled with him. But I never saw his face so I can’t be sure.”

  “Just how many of them can there be in this group?” Rui muttered. “Enna suspected a dozen. Twelve men of power and influence.” Rui tutted to himself.

  “Enna!” Rose realized with a start, looking at the clock. “She ain’t here and it’s already half six.” The knot of anxiety in her tummy tightened. “Whatever is going on? Now even the police are in on it, Rui! What are we to do?” She threw her hands in the air. “There’s a bunch of crazies with black sun tattoos going around killing people, and some dark spirit, a few thousand years old, is collywobbling around in some old cup. And somehow I’m meant to be involved?” She drew a quick breath. “If someone had sat me down last week and told me all this would happen I would’ve thought them half-baked and—” She turned to Rui, who was pacing about with his finger pressed to his lips.

  “Rui, you ain’t listened to a word I just said, have you?”

  He spun to face her. “This journal.” Rui produced Mr Gupta’s life’s work and smoothed the embossed cover. “Enna told us it’s important, but she didn’t know how.” Rui looked at Rose, deadly serious. “I believe it could help us to discover who these black sun criminals are…and stop them. It could help us find your pendant, Rose. I believe this journal holds the secrets we need to solve this mystery.”

  In the library, Rui sat cross-legged in the large armchair studying Mr Gupta’s unusual journal. Bahula had nestled behind him, his fingers busy as he inspected Rui’s hair.

  “Wild Woodbine!” Rose said as she rushed in holding a tray that rattled with crockery. Rui and Bahula looked up. “I checked the cigarette end that the detective flicked into the basement and it’s filterless and strong – a Wild Woodbine all right.”

  On seeing Rose’s tray of food Bahula jumped down to greet her.

  Rose settled the tray down on the footstool next to Rui. “Cocoa, biscuits and some cheese sandwiches. It’s all I could find.” She wiped her hands on her green velvet dress and sat down.

  A thin, hairy arm reached up from behind the footstool and snatched a handful of biscuits.

  “As we expected,” Rui muttered, grabbing a sandwich absent-mindedly, “it is looking more likely that Banks was with Mr Gupta in the Pleasure Gardens, but what we must discover is how is he involved and why he would meet with Mr Gupta.” He stuffed the sandwich into his mouth.

  “And now it’s nearly eight o’clock and Enna still isn’t here. She said she’d be here by six, didn’t she? Do you think,” Rose swallowed, “that something’s…happened to her?” Rose didn’t want to say it. She worried her words might make it true.

  “We have to trust that she can look after herself. She’s immortal after all. And she said that we must do what we can without her. What’s the English delicacy in these sandwiches?” Rui asked grabbing another. “I detect some actual flavour.”

  “Cheddar cheese,” Rose answered with a frown. Something deep in her belly told her all wasn’t fine with Enna. “That police detective must be one of them twelve powerful local men Enna was talking about, and if they got the likes of him on their side who else might be on their books?”

  Her mind recalled the newspaper article attached inside Mr Gupta’s journal and she turned to Rui. “But I still don’t understand what happened to Verrulf’s pendant. How did it get back here from India if that Funnel character died in that train crash? It can’t be chance that Funnel was with them scriptures, given that he’d already taken Verrulf’s pendant for himself. What were he after? Something very fishy is going on there.”

  “I don’t know, Rose, but as I expected, Mr Gupta was figuring something out.”

  “Or he was up to his neck in all this.”

  “Rose!” Rui protested.

  “I’m just saying. Seeing Mr Gupta in that photograph with Funnel don’t make him look any more innocent to me, and that’s the truth of it.”

  She walked away and poked the embers in the grate until they licked back into flames. Bahula jumped down and stood next to her.

  The clock in the lobby dinged eight times – and still there’d not been a whisper from Enna. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, willing her to be safe. She felt sick with worry. Someone had killed Mr Gupta and at least one policeman was siding with whoever did it, and her pendant hadn’t called to her again. Did that mean Verrulf’s guardian already had it? And that they had Enna too?

  “This journal contains so much information – about places and objects all over the world. Unbelievable. It would take me a year just to read it all,” Rui said, busily flicking through the pages.

  Rose warmed her hands against the gentle heat of the fire and noticed Bahula copying her. She smiled at him, an
d he looked pleased. Poor little mite has barely left our side since that horrid Banks went.

  “Aha, Rose! I’ve found something.” Rui interrupted her thoughts. “You need to see this.”

  Rose dragged a stool close.

  “Firstly, look at how all the pages of Mr Gupta’s book have been scorched.” He flicked through a few pages, showing the blackened corners.

  “Yes, I noticed that before,” said Rose, remembering Mr Gupta showing his drawing of the Amber Cup in the library when they’d first arrived. “Like they’d been burned.”

  “Precisely!”

  “The train fire!” Rose picked up on his thread. She snatched up the newspaper article from the side table. “In the picture Mr Gupta had two hands. She looked closer, poking out of his pocket was…his book. “Rui, he’s got his blessed book with him in the picture!” She showed him.

  “Bravo!” He nodded. “Now bear with me. You see, it would appear that Mr Gupta, on that fated train journey from Bombay, managed to copy a spell from those scriptures before the flames took hold. It’s recorded right here – and dated 1863.”

  Rose cocked her head. “The year of the train crash? Right?”

  “Correct. Mr Gupta had kept this spell a secret for all these years. I’ve certainly never heard word of it back in India. Which means I may have in my hand the only spell surviving from those cursed scriptures – the rest having been lost to the fire.”

  “What does it say?” Rose whispered excitedly.

  “The spell he transcribed is about a magic cup.” His eyes shot to Rose.

  “The Amber Cup!” they said together.

  Drawing a deep breath Rui concentrated. “This spell concerns the murkiest and most dangerous form of black magic.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The spell is called ‘udayath shyaamala nakshatra’.”

  With his words, the wall lights flickered. Bahula hid his face in his hands, and peered out through his long fingers. Sparks shot from the grate.

  Rose turned to face Rui. “What does that mean?” she murmured, her eyes jumping about the room.