The Broken Sun

by Darrell Pitt

  ‘The constellation Carina is the keel,’ Phoebe said, excitedly. ‘And it has nine main stars!’

  She placed the book with the picture of the constellation next to the artefact. Then she arranged the stars so they resembled the picture. When she slotted the last star into place, another click came from the device. It was now locked in.

  ‘That’s it,’ Phoebe said. ‘The Broken Sun is complete.’

  ‘Except it still doesn’t seem to be pointing us anywhere,’ Scarlet said.

  They stood in silence. Finally Mr Doyle drew a sharp breath and took the device from Phoebe. He climbed onto a chair, holding the Broken Sun up high.

  ‘Everyone has an eternal twin,’ he said. ‘You just need the right light to see them.’

  Late afternoon sunshine shone through the skylight onto the Broken Sun, casting a shadow across the table. There was no mistaking it: the odd shape created a hazy map of the African continent. Two crisp, crisscrossing lines formed an ‘X’ off the north-west coast.

  ‘My friends,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘We have found New Atlantis.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘We’re going on an expedition to a remote island in order to find a civilisation lost for ten thousand years,’ Phoebe argued. ‘It can’t be done on a budget.’

  It was morning and everyone was gathered on the top floor of 221 Bee Street. Mr Doyle, Jack, Scarlet and Phoebe Carfax were in the sitting room eating toast and jam, discussing their plans for the days ahead. Jack ate his meal quietly, but inside he was filled with a sense of hope. Gloria was still in hospital—an early morning messenger had reported no change in her condition—but now there was a chance of saving her.

  ‘I’m not interested in lost civilisations,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Only in finding a cure for Gloria and Professor Clarke.’

  ‘The only way to do that is with a fully equipped expedition,’ Phoebe said. ‘To attempt this on our own would be completely foolhardy.’

  ‘We have done very well so far.’

  ‘Thanks to me.’

  ‘Thanks to us all.’

  ‘But this is beyond the resources of four people.’

  ‘Surely the Lion’s Mane—’

  ‘Really?’ Now Phoebe sounded angry. ‘You think your little ship is capable of such a journey?’

  ‘She is.’ Mr Doyle paused to think. ‘But a larger ship would be faster…’

  ‘And safer. What would we do if we encountered trouble? We know our enemies are willing to kill for New Atlantis.’

  Mr Doyle glanced at Jack and Scarlet. Jack knew he was worried about their safety. Looking at himself in the mirror that morning, he’d been shocked at the face peering back: swollen, his right eye almost black.

  I may as well have been run over by a steamtruck, he’d thought glumly.

  ‘Having a few more people on our side might be helpful,’ Jack pointed out. ‘It took all of us to crack the code of the Broken Sun.’

  Mr Doyle asked Phoebe, ‘What do you know of Tobias Bradstreet?’

  ‘The millionaire? He’s one of the world’s foremost amateur archaeologists, his specialty being Atlantis. How do you know him?’

  The detective described their meeting.

  ‘Perfect,’ Phoebe said. ‘Our chances of success just tripled.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The detective shook his head. ‘Involving a stranger on this voyage—’

  ‘Mr Doyle,’ Jack interrupted. ‘We have to think of Gloria.’

  ‘Of course. You’re right.’

  Twenty-four hours later they were in a steamcab approaching Plymouth Harbour. Mr Doyle and Phoebe had met with Tobias Bradstreet and he immediately agreed to an expedition, promising to get an airship ready.

  The harbour was crowded. Steam and smoke filled the air, reducing visibility to a few feet. Airships were using their horns to avoid collisions.

  Mr Doyle explained how this was one of the busiest ports in the country. ‘Most of the journeys to Africa leave from here,’ he said. ‘And much of the trade from the continent enters through Plymouth.’

  Jack confessed he did not know a lot about Africa.

  ‘It’s still an unknown continent,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘People journey there to make their fortune. Some of them do, but many fall victim to its dangers.’

  ‘What dangers?’ Jack said.

  Phoebe laughed. ‘Where do I start? Typhoid. Malaria. Cannibals. Poor drinking water. Wild animals. The heat…’

  ‘Surely it can’t be that bad. No-one would go.’

  ‘It’s fine as long as you’re careful,’ Phoebe said. ‘I’ve been to Africa on three separate expeditions and I didn’t lose a man. Or a woman.’

  ‘You’ve been to Africa?’ Mr Doyle looked at Phoebe in amazement.

  ‘I had to do something with my life after you jilted me at the altar.’

  It took Jack a moment to realise what Phoebe Carfax had said.

  ‘Altar? You mean you and Mr Doyle—’

  ‘Were to be married,’ Phoebe confirmed.

  ‘It was all a long time ago,’ Mr Doyle mumbled. ‘I was younger.’

  ‘We all were.’ Phoebe shook her head. ‘It’s extraordinary what a bottle of gin will do to a man.’

  Scarlet’s mouth fell open. ‘You were getting married and you were drunk?’

  ‘But the church was closed,’ Phoebe said. ‘Which was reasonable: it was, after all, three in the morning. Still, that didn’t stop us from breaking in.’

  Jack couldn’t have been more surprised if Mr Doyle had told them he was the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.

  ‘He wasn’t always this stuffy.’ Phoebe winked at Jack. ‘Ignatius was quite fun once.’

  Married? Jack thought. Drunk? Breaking and entering a church? At three in the morning?

  Bazookas!

  The steamcab arrived at the terminal. Mr Doyle led them through a maze of vehicles, porters with trunks, women with dogs, families and goods carriers.

  ‘You needn’t worry about Africa,’ Scarlet said to Jack. ‘Brinkie has been there many times.’

  ‘That’s a comfort.’

  ‘The last time she went there was in The Adventure of the Cannibal Cousin.’

  ‘The…what? You’re telling me,’ Jack said slowly, ‘that Brinkie has a cousin who is a cannibal?’

  ‘Not by choice. His name is Bartholomew Buckeridge. Lost in the jungle with a dozen friends, he was captured by a cannibal tribe and forced to play cards to decide who would be eaten.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘The things that happen when you’re lost in the jungle.’

  ‘The days passed until only Bartholomew and another man remained,’ Scarlet continued. ‘That’s when Bartholomew realised the man had been cheating the whole time, keeping a spare ace of spades up his sleeve to win. There was a fight to the death and Bartholomew escaped, but realised the soup he had been eating contained the remains of his brother, Whipple.’

  ‘How horrible.’

  Scarlet nodded. ‘E
specially when Bartholomew remembers all the times he asked for seconds,’ she said. ‘He eventually goes on to write a cookbook, What I Ate in Deepest, Darkest Africa. It is not a bestseller.’

  ‘I wonder why.’

  They reached a hangar marked ‘1859’ where they found an impressive-looking airship with its name emblazoned on the side.

  ‘The Explorer. At least it has an appropriate name.’

  Jack had never seen anything like it. The ship had nine levels including the main deck. The underside resembled an eighteenth-century vessel except it was bronze-plated. Two masts topped with crow’s nests pierced a long, sausage-shaped balloon. Propulsion jets from the steam engine protruded from its square stern.

  Tobias Bradstreet marched down the gangplank to greet them. He showed a special interest in Phoebe. ‘I’ve followed your work for years,’ he gushed. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’

  ‘The pleasure is all mine. I’m sure this will be a successful collaboration.’

  ‘My navigator has checked the coordinates of your location and pinpointed a landmass known as Smollett’s Island.’

  ‘That’s an unusual name,’ Phoebe said.

  ‘Named for a ship that was wrecked on the nearby reef a century ago,’ Mr Bradstreet explained. ‘The waters around the island are treacherous.’ He waved them aboard. ‘The porters will bring your luggage. I’ll introduce you to Captain Malone and the others.’

  The ship had a cast-iron interior and sealable hatchways. Mr Bradstreet said that the Explorer could also operate as a seagoing vessel if the balloon failed. ‘Even if the hull is compromised,’ he added, ‘the hatches can be closed off to stop the ship from sinking.’

  ‘There don’t seem to be many crew,’ Jack said.

  ‘We don’t need many,’ Bradstreet said.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But I believe the Explorer used to be a freighter.’

  Bradstreet looked impressed. ‘In its previous life it transported spices from India to Britain. The hold now contains exploration equipment.’

  They reached the bridge. At the bow, crew were examining dials on their consoles and consulting charts. Captain Malone stood at the steering wheel. He was a serious-looking man with a grey beard and large ears.

  ‘I didn’t know we were bringing a woman,’ he said to Bradstreet after the introductions. ‘And children.’

  ‘Phoebe Carfax is a world expert on Atlantis,’ Bradstreet snapped. ‘We’re lucky to have her. And these are Mr Doyle’s assistants.’

  ‘I am the foremost expert on Atlantis,’ Phoebe told Captain Malone. ‘And Jack and Scarlet are highly accomplished in their own right.’ She gave him a thin smile. ‘I promise we won’t spill tea on your steering wheel or play tiddlywinks in the corridors.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ Captain Malone said, taken aback. ‘Just as long as the journey goes smoothly.’

  Bradstreet introduced the first mate, a rather more affable man by the name of Reg Smythe.

  ‘I’ve only just joined the crew,’ he said, shaking hands. ‘It’s an honour to be part of such a prestigious expedition.’

  Bradstreet gave a small nod. ‘You were with the Singleton expedition to Everest, I believe.’

  ‘Indeed. We spent some time in Nepal.’

  ‘So what did you think of the Goddess of the Earth?’ Mr Doyle asked. ‘Was she as beautiful as they say?’

  Smythe hesitated. ‘Even more beautiful.’ He glanced back at Captain Malone. ‘I had best return to my duties.’

  The captain nodded. ‘We’re rather busy right now,’ he said. ‘Seeing as how we must be away by fourteen-hundred hours.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Bradstreet, tight-lipped. ‘We’ll speak at dinner.’

  Jack could see he was annoyed by the surly nature of the captain. Bradstreet may have been the owner of the ship, but the person in charge was Captain Malone.

  They reached the galley where a small group of swarthy men were assembled around a table. Their leader was a man by the name of Charles Spaulding, a muscle-bound individual, clean-shaven and ruddy.

  His two companions, from the South Sea Islands, had darker complexions. Bradstreet introduced them as brothers, Kip and Tan.

  ‘I notice you have recently been in Afghanistan,’ Mr Doyle said to Spaulding.

  The man laughed. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘The tattoo on your inner left forearm is common to that region. It appears to have only been recently completed.’

  ‘I thought you may have been a magician.’

  ‘There is no such thing as magic,’ Mr Doyle said.

  Kip frowned slightly. ‘There is magic,’ he said. ‘I have seen it.’

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘On my island. There was a woman who could make bad spell on someone. Then they die.’

  ‘Interesting. I would like to hear more later.’

  Bradstreet took them to their cabins on the deck below. They were small, but made more comfortable with en-suite bathrooms. Jack and Mr Doyle were sharing while Phoebe and Scarlet were across the hall.

  A whistle came from the main deck to announce the airship’s departure. Jack went up to watch the ship cast off. The fog had cleared and airships were heading away in all directions. As the Explorer flew from Plymouth Harbour, Jack looked back at the coast. This adventure had to be a success. Gloria’s life depended on it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  At first glance, their room was exactly as they had left it, but Mr Doyle’s keen eyes soon spotted a note on his bed.

  ‘Ah ha,’ he said. ‘This is very encouraging.’

  Jack read the note. ‘It says, Your lives are in danger. Turn back while you still can. Mr Doyle, you have a strange idea of what is encouraging.’

  ‘It means we’re making progress,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘This is the same handwriting as the note Amelia received and the one about the British Museum.’

  ‘How does this relate to Phillip?’

  ‘I still don’t know. We started investigating the reappearance of a watch and now we’re on a hunt to find New Atlantis.’

  ‘Maybe the robbery at the museum was a coincidence.’

  ‘It would be an enormous coincidence.’ Mr Doyle shook his head. ‘No, I believe it is connected, but we don’t have all the pieces yet.’

  That night they ate dinner with Phoebe, Scarlet, Charles Spaulding and his men. Their meal was prepared by Sandra Clegg, the ship’s elderly cook.

  ‘That was lovely,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, sir. Steak and kidney pie is one of my specialties.’

  Mr Doyle asked Spaulding about his previous adventures.

  ‘I’ve been to every continent except Antarctica,’ he said. ‘Mind you, some I’ve only passed through. White men have barely explored Africa or South America.’

  ‘It’s incredible that we haven’t fully explored our own world,’ Scarlet said. ‘Yet we’ve reached into space with the metrotowers and they’re even talking about sending a ship
to the moon.’

  ‘After the war, the League of Nations created treaties to protect native peoples,’ Mr Spaulding said. ‘And a good thing too, otherwise they would have been ruthlessly exploited by colonial powers.’

  Mr Doyle turned to Kip and Tan. ‘And what about you? Where have you travelled?’

  Kip recounted their extensive expeditions through the South Pacific. Tan had lived in England for a time, but found it too cold.

  ‘People should not live with white rain,’ he said.

  ‘You mean snow?’

  ‘Snow is bad. Too cold.’

  Mr Doyle turned to Kip. ‘You said earlier about magic,’ he said. ‘Can you tell me more?’

  Kip’s eyes shifted. ‘Should not speak of such things. Bad luck.’

  ‘Surely not. You mentioned a woman.’

  ‘She was a witch,’ Kip said. ‘Powerful woman.’

  ‘A witch!’ Jack cried. ‘You mean with a broom and a—’

  ‘Probably not that kind of witch,’ Mr Doyle said gently.

  ‘She lived alone,’ Kip continued. ‘Made medicine for people when they were ill, but she wanted payment.’

  ‘And if someone did not pay?’

  The man’s face darkened. ‘My friend had no money. She cursed him. She took a chicken bone and pointed it in his face and told him he would die.’

  ‘And what happened?’ Jack asked.

  Kip shrugged. ‘He died.’

  Jack had heard about people dying from chicken bones before, but usually when they got stuck in their throats.

  ‘There is no such thing as magic,’ Mr Doyle said as Jack and Scarlet took a stroll with him around the deck the next morning. ‘But the mind is a very powerful tool. An individual can lose the will to live.’

  ‘Have you come across such a thing before?’ Scarlet asked.

  Mr Doyle sighed. ‘I didn’t want to live after Phillip’s death,’ he said. ‘I went through a bad patch on my return to England.’