The Curse of the Silver Pharaoh

by Pip Ballantine

  He then heard two low whistles—Liam’s latest trick—and he reached his mate easily prying open one of the bay windows. The opening wasn’t big enough to allow Christopher in, but he gave Liam a boost through. The younger boy disappeared for a moment, then the front door locks disengaged and Christopher slipped in.

  “Destined to be quite the Snoozer there, Liam,” Christopher whispered, patting him on the shoulder. He pointed up to the floor above them. “Be bricky.”

  Following the staircase up, keeping their feet close to the outer edge of the steps in order to avoid any unwanted creaking, Christopher and Liam slinked up to the second floor. The hallway was completely shrouded in darkness, save for a sliver of light coming from under the door. It was interrupted occasionally, just as was the light from the window. Hard to say how many were in there.

  Thankfully, the door wasn’t of such a sturdy build that it could keep in sound. A man with a thick East End accent asked, “Let me get this straight, Tiny—a gang of kids have been holding you prisoner for the past few days?”

  “Didn’t say I was proud of them getting’ the jump on me.” Their sniper was nicknamed ‘Tiny’ and part of the Illimunati? That was…

  “Bloody ridiculous,” another voice, this one a bit more polished, chimed in. “I thought the Illuminati could count on your skills.”

  “These kids were armed, I think. They had trinkets of some description, and it would stick with their story they were with Usher.”

  “That’s all we need out here,” the first man grumbled. “Those Usher bastards.”

  “It’s not like Usher would prevent us from taking the school, Davey,” the polished accent returned. Christopher glanced over to Liam, and saw him writing on his hand. Guess learning those letters from Verity mattered after all. “It just seems rather unorthodox for Usher to be employing children, let alone the riff-raff from the streets.”

  “Tiny, did you manage to get in anything useful to us?” Davey asked, “How’s things looking out there?”

  “Quiet. Very quiet. In the three days I watched the place, no activity whatsoever. That woman has the place locked down tight.”

  The man with the polished accent threw something against a table. “We should have gotten in before the newest crop of kids arrived.”

  “You know as well as I, Sir Mallory, the reason behind that. And it’s more than just trying to keep things normal, not attract attention.” Christopher glanced over to Liam writing down the third name. “Rather clever of her to suggest what she did.”

  The conversation stopped, and for a moment, Christopher thought they had been found out. It would have meant a hasty retreat into the night. He and Liam had to hope Davey and Sir Mallory were not as swift-footed as Tiny. Liam squeezed Christopher’s arm as a slow, long creak of wood cut through the silence.

  “Your business does not call for your validation of this strategy, nor does it call for your approval of her,” Sir Mallory stated it so clearly Christopher felt as if he were the one receiving this pointed warning. “Am I clear, Mr Daggermore?”

  “Yessir.” A throat cleared and Tiny stammered, “I forgot my place.”

  “That you did,” Sir Mallory returned. “You are still newly initiated, and she still stands high above you. Do not forget that.”

  So there was Tiny Daggermore the Sniper, Davey who knew to keep his mouth shut, and Sir Mallory of the Illuminati on the other side of this door, and they were not paying St Austell a friendly visit of any kind. There was no certainty if there was anyone else behind the door, but one thing was as sure as eggs: Mallory was man in charge. From the sound of that lashing, he must be more dangerous than the rest, Christopher thought to himself. The lad attempted to lower himself even closer to the floor, just to try and catch a peek under the door. He did not like not knowing how many people were in the room.

  “So with this matter of Usher being present, I think we should call for reinforcements. They will guarantee us entry into the academy.”

  There was another pause, and then Davey spoke up. “Are we relieved then, boss?”

  Christopher could see a pair of feet stop, then quickly turn back to face where the question came from. “Despite your incompetence, neither of you are relieved. You will join the assault team when the airship arrives.”

  “An airship?” Tiny spluttered. “We were supposed to be subtle. Ain’t that a bit...well...obvious?”

  “We’ve tried being careful, haven’t we?” Sir Mallory asked. “Exactly what do have to show for such caution? The Silver Pharaoh? No. We have eyes on the inside who have also reported no sighting of the Pharaoh, but assurance that it is there.”

  “How does she know?” Tiny asked.

  “Two corpses found within days of one another? The Pharaoh is there, and now this reconnaissance has become a snatch-and-grab operation. Whatever she has in that house should come to the ownership of the Illuminati, before the authorities arrive to investigate. Not all of them are in our pocket after all.”

  “So we’re calling in the shock troops?”

  “Indeed we are.”

  Davey cleared his throat. “How long, ya’ think, until they get here?”

  “Two days, at the longest.”

  Christopher nodded back to Liam, and both boys slinked back to the stairwell. They descended back down to the quiet tavern. His brain was buzzing with what they needed to do now.

  “So we got two days until the Illuminati are coming with an airship?” Liam whispered.

  “Seems to be the game, doesn’t it?” Christopher licked his lips and looked out through the windows. “Looks like we are going to pay Verity, Henry, and Emma a wee visit at their toff academy.”

  Both their heads jerked up on hearing the floorboards above them creak softly.

  Liam gently rapped Christopher’s chest. “Come on. We got moors to cross.”

  He nodded, but a glance to the tavern’s bar gave him pause. They were not in London, and the country folk were a very trusting lot. “We got a bit of time. Let’s enjoy a wee nip.”

  “Are you mad, Christopher?” Liam whispered tersely.

  “It’s not like we haven’t earned it,” the boy said, slipping under the bar to look at what was there waiting for him. He peered into the various bottles until he finally found one holding liquid so clear, he swore it was glinting in the dark.

  His nose took in the strong scent of juniper. His old friend…

  “Christopher,” Liam managed to snap while keeping his voice at a whisper, “this is not a good time to take a bit of the Ol’ Tom!”

  “I’m jus’ enjoyin’ a bit of a celebration,” he returned in a hushed tone of his own. “Agent Thorne would be mighty proud of us right now.”

  “Take the bottle with us then.”

  “Oh, sure,” Christopher huffed. “If I take a tumble on them moors, the bottle could shatter. If I get it back to the farm, I’ve got to keep it hidden, and if Summerson finds it she’ll turn that farm of hers upside-down and come across Jonathan. No. Too risky.”

  Liam hissed, “Christopher!”

  “Look, mate, you can either join me, or keep watch. If you hear anything, let me know and we’ll be on our way faster than Spring Heeled Jack himself.”

  After a moment and a few more creaks from floorboards above them, Liam relented. “One. Drink. And then we go.”

  “Cheers, mate,” Christopher said, lifting the bottle towards Liam.

  He took a swig of the gin and kicked back a good sized gulp of the alcohol. The odd thing about his love of gin was he hated the taste. It was sweet, but the usual pleasantries of sweets were absent as the juniper brought another taste that could only be described as overpoweringly floral. He would have tasted the same thing if he drank a pitcher full of tulips. His loathing of the taste always paled in comparison to the effects of gin, which Christopher loved. The farmhouse ale Mrs Summerson had been serving was fine enough, but for Christopher the warmth and love gin gave him was truly unique. Verity had a w
ord for it: unparalleled.

  He took another drink. Those Illuminati blokes above them were busy plotting a grand ol’ party for the Delancy Academy, not knowing the Ministry Seven were on to them. Their plan was over before it even properly began. He could see and hear Agent Thorne looking at him proudly, maybe a hand on his shoulder, as he said, “Well done, Christopher. You truly do have a future with us at the Ministry.”

  Yeah, Christopher thought wistfully as he took another swig of gin, I would be one of the Ministry’s best. Better than Agent Thorne himself, I wager.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Time for Science

  After Latin had finished with her, Verity found herself ambushed by a certain chestnut-haired scamp, who had been waiting for her in the shadows by the doorway. Emma had quite the ability to blend into the woodwork, a skill that served her well on the streets of London. That skill worried Verity just a little. With deadly automatons patrolling the halls, students walled up in corridors, corpses appearing at the bottom of stairwells, the reality of what Agent Thorne had asked of them was more than apparent.

  “Emma,” Verity asked after spotting the glimmer in the girl’s eyes. “What are you up to?”

  “Come on,” Emma said tugging on Verity’s sleeve. “It won’t take long.”

  With Mickey in her pocket, Verity thought there could be a number of opportunities, so she followed where the girl led. For a moment, she thought Emma was going to dare the “Dungeon” door, one stairwell which led to the bottom floors were supposedly out of bounds, utilized as storage, and staff quarters, but Emma did not take her down the stairs. Instead, the two girls slipped into the Academy’s vast library, its intoxicating smell of leather and old books reminding Verity viscerally of her father and his own treasured collection.

  The latch Emma and her relentless curiosity discovered was old, far too ancient for the Sound to locate. It was a simple counter balance system from older times, dating back before clock and steam power had been used. Emma looked over her shoulder to Verity, grinned, and flipped the latch. Verity heard a soft click just before a section of bookcase before them swung open.

  “You take the bacon on finding these sort of things, Emma,” Verity said to her as she pulled the bookcase shut. Tiny gaslight lanterns suddenly flared to life, lining the passage before them. They must have been triggered by the door latch. Ingenious. “How did you figure this little puzzle out?”

  “I was reading, or at least pretending to,” Emma said. “It was one of them study hall things, and while I was sitting in front of that bookcase, I caught a draft. Followed it here.”

  “Henry and I could have done with this the other night,” Verity muttered. “Automatons with sharp knives would have been far less of a worry. How much have you explored?”

  The gaslight reflected in the other girl’s wide eyes. “I haven’t gone far.” She pointed to the right hand passage. “Just down here, it’s…well…it feels a bit creepy.”

  Verity could feel exactly what she meant. The still air had a languid, dreamy atmosphere, but it was now clear how Heather von St James had found her way inside the walls.

  Her mind wandered back to Doctor Williams. He had to be here, somewhere. Perhaps in one of these passages? Was he, in fact, even still alive? Though Verity had only a glimpse of him on the night of his kidnapping, he was a man of science—just like her father had been. She didn’t want him to suffer as he had.

  Mickey was her only chance of finding him, but even if she did, how were they going to be able to furnish an escape for him? Security was far greater than Agent Thorne suspected.

  Verity fished Mickey out of her pocket, causing Emma to bounce lightly on the balls of her feet. She did love the various gadgets in her possession. Verity pushed the Find button on the underside before setting the device free into the hidden workings of the manor. With the Sound echoing in her head the signature of her own engineering, Mickey clicked and whirred its way into the dark.

  A clankerton should not be so attached to their creation, Verity knew that, but she continued to reassure herself it wouldn’t be the last time she would see Mickey. This house held secrets, and one of those was a man of science held against his will. Thorne was counting on the Seven to do something. Sacrifices would be made.

  “You alright there, Verity?” Emma asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” Verity said. “Nommus.”

  They turned on their heels, the Sound of Mickey growing softer and softer in Verity’s head, as they returned to the library. Their quiet corner remained deserted, even as she pulled Emma out of the passageway. “Get to class you,” Verity told the pouting girl as she shut the secret door. “You’re supposed to want to be here after all.”

  She pushed the younger girl ahead of her and out of the library. Emma gave Verity a filthy look before heading in the direction of Maths & Sciences. Assured that she was on her way to class, Verity went to make her way back to her room.

  Henry caught hold of her arm. “Got time for a little murder investigation?” he asked, his free hand patting on a small satchel resting against his hip.

  Verity frowned and considered. “We may as well skip a class, give it a go. Even if Miss Delancy brought the police in on this matter, I don’t know how effective the local constables would be with such an odd case.”

  “What are you missing?”

  “Chemistry,” she sneered. “Apart from that one demonstration in the cricket pitch, it’s been meticulous reading from the textbook. I swear, it’s as if Mrs Seddon is teaching herself the class while trying to teach us. You?”

  “Literature. I’m not always fond of books, as you know.”

  “So what’s your plan?” Verity asked.

  “An examination of the scene.” His face was so serious and stern he could have almost been a policeman. Verity decided not to make that observation.

  “But it’s been days, Henry. With all the commotion…”

  “What we’re looking for should still be there,” he assured her.

  “Alright then,” she nodded. “Let’s go then, while classes are in session is the perfect time.”

  The hallways were eerily silent, the mutter of distant lessons just discernible. Where they had found Mrs Pyke—the base of the staircase—served as a major intersection between classes and dormitories. A crime scene, Verity grew to understand from Agent Thorne, was much like a laboratory. Contamination of any kind would skew results. “I know you mean well, but I don’t think there is much to be learned here either,” Verity said, peering up and down the staircase. “There has been too much....”

  “What we are looking for,” he said, pulling out from his bag a pair of intricate oculars, “may not be visible to the casual eye.”

  Jewellers and clockmakers used the finely detailed optics, Verity had seen before, but this device fitting neatly over Henry’s eyes was something far more elaborate, and something she would never imagine being using at a crime scene.

  “Where did you come across those?”

  “Made them myself,” Henry stated, turning a dial above one of the lenses. “In Miss Delancy’s Master Class.”

  Wait. Henry was attending a Master Class? Run by Miss Delancy? “Do tell,” she said somewhat sharply.

  “Fascinating workshops, they’ve been. When I was selected, I almost said ‘no’ because I’d rather not be bothered, but…” His voice trailed off. Verity knew he only did that when he knew he was about to say something rather stupid.

  “But why, Henry?”

  “Not now,” he said, getting down on his hands and knees to examine the floorboards and the bannister, “I think I see something.”

  He looked a little ridiculous. It would have been quite the miracle if he had seen anything through that mishmash, but without any police in sight what other choice did they have? Henry hummed slightly to himself as he scanned every nook and cranny of the bottom stair.

  “Some sort of ætheric resonance,” he muttered, “but I can’t tell quite
what kind.”

  What did he say? Ætheric reso—oh for Heaven’s sake. Verity rolled her eyes. Henry was particularly fond of Sherlock Holmes stories and penny dreadfuls. “That’s what fortune-tellers and spiritualists bang on about. The residue left behind from the other-worldly plane. Try something else for goodness sakes.”

  Henry looked up at her, and his glare through the oculars was repeated four fold. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Honestly,” Verity said with an exasperated sigh, “we saw the poor woman for ourselves, and she was very much in a corporeal form.”

  “But the state of that corporeal form—not necessarily normal, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I would, but ætheric resonance? Really?”

  He pulled himself up to one knee. “Just open your mind up a bit…”

  Verity offer him a hand. “Please. Stop. What more can you learn here?”

  She was about to help him back up to his feet when movement at the top of the steps abruptly ceased.

  Suzanne, for once, was not surrounded by her hangers on. It was just her, seemingly as surprised as they were in finding her outside of class. She was carrying a book, holding in her hands as if it were a sacred tome from St Paul’s. Verity went to let go of Henry’s hand, but his grip tightened.

  “Why,” she said, descending the stairs towards them with the infinite care of a predator, “what are you two up to, out of class?”

  The way her look flicked between the two of them made a ridiculous flush run across Verity’s face. Yet what other explanation could there be? Her mind raced about trying to find one to fling in the face of the grinning Suzanne. “I would ask the same of you.”

  “I was fetching this for Stella,” she said, holding up the worn, leather bound book. “Science in Government and Politics. Miss Rathbone is discussing the delicacies of bringing innovation to ruling entities, and Stella wanted to know more about my father’s influence in Parliament. These are his writings.” Her eyes gleamed with delight. “And you?”