The Emerald Casket

by Richard Newsome

  ‘What’s this?’

  He was pointing at a large rectangular shape near the foot of the bed. It was covered with a dark cloth. Could Lethbridge have found something already?

  Gerald knelt down and grabbed a corner of the cloth. He was about to lift it away when a something stirred underneath. They both jumped.

  ‘Holy cow!’ Sam yelped.

  Gerald glanced at his friend then back at the box. He took a tentative hold of the cloth between finger and thumb, and pulled. The covering came away and Gerald was suddenly nose-to-beak with a speckled…

  ‘Pigeon!’

  Four grey-and-white birds blinked at them from inside a wooden frame covered in chicken wire. They cooed and pecked at the gaps in the mesh. Each bird had a red band around one leg and a tiny metal tube attached to the other.

  Gerald and Sam leant back on their heels. ‘Maybe Lethbridge was telling the truth after all,’ Sam said. ‘He’s not going to bring this lot with him if he’s helping Green search for one of the caskets.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Gerald said. ‘But what’s the point of bringing them at all? They’re hardly going to find their way back to East Finchley from here.’

  Then Gerald saw the bag. The one that Lethbridge had with him when he was in the villa at the Gupta compound. He scrambled on hands and knees to grab it. He pulled the handles apart and peered inside. At the bottom was a bundle of documents held together with a rubber band. Gerald pulled it out and started flicking through.

  ‘Airline ticket, itinerary, travel insurance…here it is!’ He pulled out the envelope with the Interpol insignia.

  ‘How are we going to look at the report if it’s sealed?’ Sam asked.

  Gerald turned the envelope over. ‘It’s not sealed anymore,’ he said. ‘Lethbridge must have opened it.’ With a quick glance at his friend for reassurance, Gerald pulled out the document. It was about a dozen pages long, stapled at the top. He scanned the front page. But it just seemed to be a summary of their discovery of the diamond casket. He flipped over the next few pages. There were sections headed ‘France’ and ‘Egypt’, and finally, he came to a page with ‘India’ at the top.

  ‘This is it,’ he said to Sam. His eyes tried to drink in the words on the paper but, in his rush, the letters seemed to melt into each other. Finally, near the bottom, he found something.

  ‘Listen to this,’ he said: ‘Though there is no hard evidence to support such a claim, local legends speak of a magical casket that was buried in an ancient coastal city, possibly late in the fourth century. The casket was supposedly under the protection of a dangerous religious cult, aspects of which survive to this day.’

  Gerald took in a sharp breath. ‘A cult! That’s my family!’

  Sam looked puzzled. ‘What are you on about?’

  After the disappointment of the stone casket at the bazaar, Gerald had almost forgotten about the link between his family seal and the deadly cult. ‘Tell you later,’ he said. He read on: ‘There are myths of a magnificent metropolis, boasting six temples. The location of the ancient city was forgotten after it was inundated by rising seawaters more than a thousand years ago. However, the recent tsunami has uncovered the ruins of what appears to be a large township, buried for centuries under the Bay of Bengal. Local fishermen claim it is the lost city of the legends.’

  Gerald grabbed Sam by the elbow. ‘The casket must be there!’ he said, his eyes wide with excitement.

  ‘Where is it?’

  Gerald looked at the bottom of the page. ‘The town of Ma—’

  The phone on the bedside table burst into life.

  ‘Far out!’ Gerald cried. He dropped the report. ‘Do we answer it?’

  The ring continued. Loud. Insistent.

  Gerald reached up, gave an anxious look at Sam and lifted the handset.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Lethbridge is on his way up!’ It was Alisha.

  Gerald dropped the phone back into the cradle and dived on the report, which had fluttered under the bed. He struggled to straighten it out and get it back into the envelope.

  ‘Lethbridge!’ he hissed at Sam.

  He jammed the bundle of documents back into the carry bag and they raced for the door. Sam was about to open it when a chorus of cooing struck up behind them.

  ‘Pigeons!’ Gerald spun back and flung the cloth over the birdcage.

  They burst out into the corridor as the lift doors slid open. To their horror, a foot appeared on the carpet.

  They were in the middle of the hallway.

  The cleaner’s cart had gone.

  There was nowhere to hide.

  Gerald shoved his hand into his pocket. The street map. He just managed to unfold it in front of their faces as Lethbridge stepped out of the lift. They kept their heads down and scurried past the constable, ignoring his greeting of, ‘Good morning.’ Gerald stabbed at the lift button, stopping the doors from shutting and they fell inside. He poked an eye back into the corridor and saw that Lethbridge had reached room 912—just as the automatic closer pulled the door shut.

  Lethbridge jerked his eyes back towards the lift. Gerald snapped his head inside and hammered on the button for the lobby.

  ‘Come on.’

  The doors slid together and the lift started its downward journey.

  Gerald waited until Mr Gupta’s butler had finished laying out the lunch buffet in the casual dining room and had pulled the double doors closed behind him.

  Sam had been bursting to let Ruby and Alisha know about the Interpol report, but Gerald insisted they hold on until he could get some food into his belly. Mostly he had wanted some time to get everything straight in his own mind.

  He started by telling them about the cult.

  He’d been chewing over why his family would adopt the symbol of a murderous gang of thugs, but had got no further than the theory that it was just a pretty cool design.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Gerald,’ Alisha said. ‘Whatever the reason, it all happened centuries ago.’

  Gerald and Sam then took it in turns to retell what they’d seen in the hotel room.

  Ruby couldn’t get past the pigeons.

  ‘That settles it, as far as I’m concerned,’ she said. ‘Lethbridge must be telling the truth. No one is going to bring a box of pigeons with them as cover for some secret mission.’

  ‘Well what about the Interpol report?’ Gerald said. ‘It named the town where the casket might be hidden. The dates are about right. Professor McElderry said the three Antonius brothers left Rome with the caskets around 400AD. One of the caskets must be in that town.’

  ‘Shame you can’t remember the name of it then, isn’t it?’ Ruby said.

  Gerald glared at his plate. He’d been in such a rush to get the report back inside the envelope.

  ‘Anyway, a tale of a lost city uncovered by tidal waves is all a bit far fetched, don’t you think?’ Ruby said. She picked up a chicken leg and took a bite. ‘You’ve had your fun, Gerald. Who’s in favour of going to look at tigers?’ She raised her hand and looked at the others.

  Alisha raised her hand. Sam looked first at Gerald, then at Alisha. He gave Gerald a shrug then put his hand in the air.

  Ruby turned to Gerald. ‘You promised,’ she said.

  Gerald bit his bottom lip. Then slowly raised a hand.

  After lunch Gerald assured Ruby that he had abandoned any plan to find the missing casket. He didn’t mention that he’d phoned Agent Leclerc, trying to find out more about the Interpol report. It was only after the third call went through to an answering machine that Gerald gave up and settled on chasing tigers.

  They spent the afternoon lounging around the Guptas’ indoor swimming pool. The monsoon lashed down outside, sluicing over the clear barrel-shaped roof high above. Sam was entertaining them with a variety of poorly executed dives from the high board.

  ‘This one I call the dying swan,’ he said from three metres up. He launched off the platform as if he’d just been shot and landed in
an explosion of spray and limbs.

  ‘More like the brain-dead twin,’ Ruby said. Her li-lo bucked in the wash. Sam launched himself up from the bottom of the pool and torpedoed her into the water.

  He was halfway up the ladder to the diving platform when Mr Gupta wandered into the pool enclosure. He was followed by Mr Fry and a sheepish- looking Constable Lethbridge.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans,’ Mr Gupta announced.

  Alisha looked up from her deckchair. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It appears the Archer jet is no longer available.’

  ‘What!’ Sam spluttered from the ladder. ‘Why not?’

  Mr Fry gave Lethbridge a sidewards glance. ‘Shall you tell them?’ he said. ‘Or shall I?’

  Lethbridge swallowed. Somehow, even with a lobster-coloured complexion, he’d gone pale. ‘I was at the airport with Mr Fry,’ he said. ‘Giving the plane the once over. You know, for—’

  ‘Security.’ Sam finished the sentence. ‘Yes, we know that. What’s happened?’

  ‘I was on the tarmac, see. Walking around the plane, just checking for anything unusual. The pilot had the engines on, warming them up, I guess. Then, over on a patch of grass, I see the pigeons…’

  ‘Pigeons?’ Ruby said.

  ‘Beautiful, they were. Lovely birds. Very intelligent, you know. They can fly huge distances back to their homes. Never get lost. Did I mention that?’

  ‘So you thought you’d take a closer look,’ Mr Fry said, his eyes dark as death.

  ‘Must have been fifty or more of them,’ Lethbridge continued, his voice dream-like. ‘Each one a beauty.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ Fry said.

  ‘I only wanted to have a look.’ Lethbridge choked. He couldn’t go on.

  ‘He got too close, the birds took off and the whole lot got sucked into the engines,’ Fry said. ‘Feathers and drumsticks everywhere. The plane’s grounded for a week for repairs.’

  Lethbridge looked devastated.

  But not as devastated as Sam. ‘A week!’ he said. ‘How are we getting to the tiger reserve now?’

  Mr Gupta puffed out his chest and a smile spread across his face. ‘I have an excellent solution,’ he said. ‘There are many commercial flights to the south—’

  ‘So we have to fly in a normal plane?’ Sam whined.

  ‘No,’ Mr Gupta said. ‘You don’t get a real feel for a country from thirty thousand feet in the air. Now that Alisha is taking a greater interest in her heritage, I was thinking of an alternative means of transport.’

  ‘What’s that, Mr Gupta?’ Gerald asked.

  ‘The train.’

  ‘The train!’ Sam was horrified. ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘Oh, no more than forty hours. It will be quite the adventure for you.’

  ‘Forty hours!’ Sam lost his grip and fell off the ladder into the pool. He surfaced still speaking. ‘On a train. Are you serious?’

  ‘It sounds fun,’ Ruby said.

  ‘Sure, why not?’ Alisha said. ‘We can make some stops along the way. It’s not like we’re in a hurry.’

  Gerald swam over to where Sam was clinging to the side of the pool. His face was a picture of desolation. ‘I’m sure the train will be very comfy,’ Gerald said.

  Sam was lost in his misery. ‘The plane…the beautiful plane...’

  Chapter 12

  New Delhi train station at night is a beehive of activity. Eighteen platforms back-to-back, bustling with thousands of people in the draining summer air. Trains from across the country arriving and departing by the minute. A bubbling curry of families, hawkers, beggars, porters, guards, soldiers, Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Jains, Christians—all going, coming or just staying put.

  Gerald, Ruby and Alisha clambered down the covered stairway onto the platform, brimming with anticipation, their packs over their shoulders. Sam lagged behind, his face as long as the journey that stretched out before them. They were followed by Miss Turner and Mr Fry who also carried backpacks and kept a wary eye on their charges.

  ‘What’s more funny?’ Gerald asked as they wound their way along the platform. ‘Sam being such a grump or Fry in shorts? He looks like an over-inflated boy scout.’

  ‘I think the funniest thing is Miss Turner,’ Alisha said, glancing back at her guardian.

  ‘What about her?’ Gerald asked.

  ‘Haven’t you noticed? She fancies Mr Fry.’

  Gerald let out a disbelieving, ‘You’re kidding!’

  Sam caught up. ‘What’s so funny?’ he said.

  ‘Alisha reckons Miss Turner’s got the hots for Fry,’ Gerald said.

  ‘The ice queen and the king of dull?’

  ‘Haven’t you seen how she acts when he’s around?’ Ruby said. ‘Can’t keep her eyes off him.’

  Sam gagged. ‘I may need a bucket.’

  They threw their packs into a heap and sat on the concrete to wait for their train. A pack of scrawny dogs, the colour of melted ice cream, sniffed around the tracks, scavenging for scraps among the litter. A loudspeaker announced the arrival of a train on the platform behind them. The engine drew into the station and people gathered their belongings. Gerald watched Sam’s face fall further and further at the sight of carriages stuffed to overflowing. People were leaning out the open doors and faces were pressed against the iron bars of the glassless windows.

  Sam was horrified.

  ‘We traded a six-star private jet for forty hours in a sardine tin?’ he said. ‘This is insanity.’

  ‘Maybe our train won’t be so crowded,’ Gerald said.

  A scrum formed around the doorway to one of the carriages. Bags and bundles were tossed over heads in the race to get inside.

  Sam groaned.

  ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Ruby said. ‘Anyway, that’s a second-class carriage. Mr Gupta would have booked something more comfy.’

  All eyes turned to Gerald’s butler. Mr Fry unzipped a pocket in his shorts and pulled out some papers.

  ‘We have seats in the chairman’s carriage,’ he said.

  ‘Well that sounds all right,’ Ruby said, staring at the tangle of bodies inside the train opposite. Sam didn’t look convinced.

  ‘There’s one consolation,’ Alisha said.

  ‘What’s that?’ Sam grumbled.

  ‘Constable Lethbridge won’t be hitching a ride with us now.’

  Gerald pulled a water bottle from the side of his pack and took a sip. ‘Lethbridge seemed his normal goofy self at the house yesterday. You don’t suppose he suspected anything?’

  ‘That’s the problem with your master criminal,’ Ruby said, pulling a face at Gerald. ‘You can never tell when they’re acting dumb to disguise their insane brilliance.’

  Alisha laughed but the smile froze on her face. Ruby looked her way. ‘What’s the problem?’

  Alisha pointed down the platform.

  They turned to see a porter struggling towards them through the crowd with a large suitcase balanced on his head.

  ‘What’s that on top of the case?’ Ruby asked.

  Sam and Gerald recognised it at once.

  ‘Pigeons,’ Gerald said.

  From behind the porter emerged Constable Lethbridge, cheeks pink in the heat. He was dressed like he was about to star as an extra in a Tarzan movie: boots with long socks hiked to his knees, khaki shorts and a shirt with an array of pockets and epaulets. The only things missing were a pith helmet and an elephant gun.

  The porter placed the suitcase and the box of birds at Gerald’s feet and accepted a handful of notes from Lethbridge.

  ‘This is a bit of fun, isn’t it?’ Lethbridge said, clapping his hands together. ‘Think I’ve acclimatised now. Really looking forward to this trip. We can get to know each other a bit better. Oh, hello. We haven’t met.’ He held out a fleshy paw to Miss Turner and shook her hand vigorously. ‘We’ll all be best of pals.’ Miss Turner’s expression indicated she thought that outcome was highly unlikely.


  Gerald was mortified. ‘You’re coming with us on the train?’

  Lethbridge parked his frame on his suitcase. ‘Mr Gupta’s idea,’ he said. ‘He thought I’d enjoy the experience.’

  Gerald turned to Alisha. ‘Your father is full of good ideas.’

  She stared at the ground between her feet. ‘Isn’t he just,’ she mumbled.

  ‘But won’t you be late for your conference?’ Ruby said. ‘I thought it started tomorrow.’

  Lethbridge pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and wiped his forehead. ‘As luck would have it, I phoned the organisers and the opening day has been put back. I’ll have plenty of time.’

  ‘That is a stroke of good luck,’ Gerald said. He gave Ruby a look that showed he didn’t believe a word.

  ‘And it means the birds don’t have to go in a plane. Funny thing that. They don’t like to fly. Not unless they’re flying, of course. You see, with pigeons it’s a matter of…’

  Lethbridge droned for the next half hour about the intricacies of pigeon keeping, until the announcement that their train would arrive in four minutes.

  ‘At last,’ Miss Turner said. She had positioned herself as far from Lethbridge as possible during the wait. She turned to Alisha. ‘Stay where I can see you.’

  Alisha flashed a scowl at her. ‘Can you please stop treating me like a child?’

  Miss Turner pulled a pack onto her shoulders. ‘The day you stop acting like one.’

  Alisha fumed and turned her back on Miss Turner. She whispered to Gerald, ‘She drives me crazy. How do you put up with Mr Fry?’

  Gerald glanced across at his butler. He was trying to convince Miss Turner to let him take her pack. ‘I don’t think my personal development is high on his list of concerns,’ Gerald said.

  An engine barrelled into the station at the head of a long line of dull green carriages. People scurried in all directions with their mountains of bags and bundles, looking to secure seats.

  ‘Which one’s the chairman’s carriage?’ Ruby asked. ‘They all look the same.’

  Gerald spied a train conductor and was about to go ask him for directions when a voice sounded in his ear.