They shrank back and pretended to admire one of the tapestries. Gerald sneaked a look over his shoulder. The guard had a finger to his ear and seemed to be focused on listening to something through an earpiece.
‘Is he getting an update on us?’ Sam said.
‘Well, I don’t think he’s listening to the cricket,’ Gerald said.
Ruby looked further up the gallery. ‘Those stairs at the end must lead to the tower,’ she said. ‘There’s nowhere else the sign can possibly be pointing to.’
‘How do we get past laughing boy?’ Gerald said, nodding towards the guard. ‘Dr Serafini knows we’re looking for the tower. There’s no way it’s going to be left unwatched.’
Sam patted Gerald on the shoulder. ‘Have you seen this?’ He pointed to the tapestry in front of them. It was a particularly graphic depiction of the assassination of Julius Caesar in the Roman Senate, complete with thrusting daggers and tormented faces.
‘That’s great, Sam,’ Ruby said. ‘But now’s not the time to discover a love of art.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Sam said. ‘This.’ Sewn into the tapestry in golden thread, at the bottom of a pillar, was a triangle of forearms, linked at the elbows, around a blazing sun.
Gerald shook his head. He was beyond being surprised by his family crest turning up in strange places. He resisted the urge to bend down and touch it. It couldn’t be there simply for decoration—it had to signify something. An idea popped into his head.
‘Gerald?’ Ruby asked. He put a finger to his lips and glanced at the guard by the stairs, then ducked into the narrow gap between the tapestry and the wall.
‘What are you doing?’ Ruby said. Gerald’s feet were clearly visible beneath the tapestry. ‘There’s no point hiding there.’
Gerald popped back out with a huge grin on his face. ‘I wasn’t hiding,’ he said. ‘I’ve found something.’
He beckoned Ruby and Sam to follow him. But before they could take a step a shrill whistle cut through the crowd’s murmuring.
Everyone in the gallery froze. The guard by the stairs to the tower had his finger to his ear again. The doors at the end of the gallery were open, and the three guards from the chapel stood in the entryway.
‘Stop where you are!’ The tallest of the guards at the door pointed a baton at Gerald.
Gerald’s eyes darted about. It was a long shot. But it was the only shot they had. ‘On my signal,’ he said to Sam and Ruby, ‘drop to the floor and roll behind the tapestry.’
Ruby nodded. ‘Okay. What’s the sig—’
‘FIRE! FIRE!’
Gerald’s shout rang along the gallery. In a second, there was a screaming stampede for the exits.
Gerald, Sam and Ruby hit the tiles and barrel-rolled behind the tapestry. Gerald pushed Ruby through a tight manhole in the wall. Sam was through a second later. The feet of panicking tourists pounded by just centimetres away. The whistle kept up a constant screech, but it wasn’t getting any closer. The guards couldn’t make headway against the rolling crush of the crowds funnelling through the doors. Gerald scrambled after Sam. He glanced back to see four sets of black boots on the other side of the tapestry. He fitted the manhole cover back in place and wished he could see the guards’ faces when they realised that the three runaways had vanished.
A dim light from high above illuminated the tight crawlspace behind the wall. It was as if they were sitting in a fireplace and staring straight up the chimney. A series of iron rungs fixed into the brickwork led to the top. Gerald squeezed into place and started to climb.
Hand over hand, he hauled himself up. His backpack scraped against the bricks behind him and he strained to make as little noise as possible. Finally, he emerged in a cramped alcove at the start of a passage; the ceiling was so low he had to sit on the floor. He shunted along to make space for Ruby and then Sam as they climbed out of the shaft.
‘I wish we’d got new batteries for the headlamps,’ Ruby whispered. ‘I can’t see a thing.’
‘It’s all right,’ Gerald whispered back. ‘Looks like the only way out is along here and it seems lighter up that way.’
He started along the passage on his hands and knees. As far as he could tell, they were angling back across to the other side of the tapestry gallery. Up ahead, light filtered through a cluster of holes in the centre of a panel in the wall.
Sam and Ruby bunched up behind Gerald as he put an eye to one of the holes.
‘Can you see anything?’ Sam whispered. For a few seconds, there was no response. ‘Gerald?’
Gerald looked back over his shoulder, his eyes bright. ‘I think we might be close,’ he said.
‘What is it?’ Ruby asked.
Gerald put a finger to his lips and turned back to the panel. He ran his fingers around its edges and found what he was looking for. He twisted two wooden latches, took hold of the anchor points on either side and shoved it. Light flooded into their escape tunnel, blinding them for a second. Gerald tumbled through the opening, rolling onto a cold floor of brown paving stones. Ruby and Sam followed.
‘Wow,’ said Sam.
And that seemed to sum it up for Gerald and Ruby as well.
They were standing in the heart of a chamber that seemed to climb to the heavens. Every wall was covered in brightly coloured frescoes. One depicted a shipwreck, its survivors struggling onto a rocky shore. High above, the ceiling was painted an intense blue. Angels and cherubs danced around its perimeter. In the centre, directly above Gerald’s head, was what appeared to be an enormous clock face, its hands pointed together.
‘This must be the Tower of the Winds,’ Ruby whispered. ‘It’s just like the picture on the book.’
Gerald turned a full circle to take in the kaleidoscope of colours and images. It was almost too much to digest. Then he looked down to the floor, and saw the white line that split the room in two, just as Dr Serafini had described it. It ran from the tunnel opening they’d fallen through, across to the opposite wall. In the centre of the room, where Gerald was standing, the line bisected an octagonal design set into the tiles. Each of the eight points in the octagon was connected by thin lines to each other point.
‘What do you make of this?’ Gerald asked, pointing to the pattern at their feet.
‘Looks like a compass to me,’ Sam said. ‘North, South, East, West and the points in between.’
‘But what’s any of this got to do with the three golden rods?’ Ruby asked.
Gerald was following the white line to the far side of the room when Ruby called out, ‘Gerald, there’s something on the back of your head.’
A ghostly spot had appeared right in the middle of Gerald’s mop of dark hair. He smacked his hands over his crown, but the spot remained.
‘It’s a light,’ Sam said. ‘Coming from up there.’ He pointed to high up the wall behind them. A beam of light was shining through from a painted sun in a fresco depicting a boat on pitching seas.
‘There’s a hole in the wall,’ Gerald said, the light now shining on the middle of his forehead like a laser. ‘The clouds must have cleared.’
‘Get out of the way, Gerald,’ Ruby said. ‘I want to see where it’s pointing.’
Gerald stepped aside. The light fell on a painting at the bottom of the opposite wall. ‘Now, why has this one been singled out from all the others in the room?’ Ruby said.
It was a rather plain painting in reddish-browns of a man in a travelling cloak sheltering from winds blowing in from the puff-cheeked gods in the clouds.
‘He’s copping some weather,’ Gerald said. ‘What does that tell us?’
‘Not much,’ Ruby said. ‘But maybe this writing does.’
Sam nudged in next to her shoulder. ‘What’s it say?’
The spot of light fell on faded lettering in the scroll-work beneath the painting.
‘Skiron di Atene,’ she said. ‘I guess it’s Italian.’
‘Athens,’ Sam said.
Ruby looked at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Atene. It’s Italian for Athens. Capital of Greece.’
‘You are on fire!’ Gerald said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. ‘How about the first bit? Skiron. Is that a place in Athens?’
‘I haven’t heard of it,’ Sam said. ‘But it could be.’
‘Greece,’ Ruby said. ‘That’s where Quintus and his sons were going. Dr Serafini said so, from that letter to the emperor. This must be the clue that the monks left on Gerald’s book. The Tower of the Winds shows us the next step—Athens.’
‘The clue that Charlotte was looking for,’ Gerald said. He sat back on his heels. ‘Skiron must be where Quintus was heading on his secret mission. So that’s where we need to go, too.’
Their exit from the Tower of the Winds was a lot easier than their entry. They followed a corridor from the fresco chamber and found themselves at the top of the stairwell that led down to the tapestry gallery. There was no sign of the guard. The crowds had returned after Gerald’s impromptu fire drill, and within minutes Gerald, Sam and Ruby were through the nearest exit and back on the street.
‘How are we getting to Athens?’ Ruby asked as they retraced their steps of earlier that day. ‘The airport will be on alert. Probably the train station as well.’
‘And we don’t have much cash left,’ Sam said.
They reached the piazza in front of St Peter’s Basilica. Banks of seating stood vacant under the rain-threatening sky. A few pilgrims made their way to the last of the day’s tour buses parked around the perimeter. All across the piazza pigeons fossicked for stray seed in the cracks between the paving stones. At the far end, in front of the steps leading up to the Basilica, a choir was rehearsing; snatches of a hymn floated on the breeze.
Gerald was about to set off towards the closest Metro station when Ruby stopped him.
‘Look. Isn’t that Constable Lethbridge?’ She pointed to a lone figure seated by a tall column in the centre of the piazza. His elbows were on his knees and he was staring at the police cap in his hands. He didn’t look up when Ruby tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Are you okay, constable?’
Lethbridge gazed up at them through tired eyes. ‘My name’s David,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’ll need the constable bit anymore.’
‘You’re going to quit the force?’ Gerald said. ‘Don’t do that. I’ll tell Inspector Jarvis it was all my fault.’
Lethbridge studied the badge on the front of his cap. ‘I was always rubbish at being a policeman,’ he said. ‘All I ever wanted was to breed pigeons. Run a little loft somewhere in the country. Meet a nice girl...’ His voice trailed off.
Ruby gave Gerald and Sam an uncertain look. None of them knew what to say.
The clouds scudded across the sky. The choirmaster urged his choristers to greater heights.
Lethbridge turned to Gerald. ‘Your mother is here,’ he said.
‘She is?’ Gerald was surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Her only child has run away from home accused of murder. I’d say she’s worried about you. She and that Walter fellow are staying at the St Regis.’
Gerald was surprised to find a lump in his throat. He tried to swallow it down. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Thanks, David.’
‘What will you do now?’ Ruby asked Lethbridge.
The constable folded his cap into a tight bundle and shoved it into his pocket. ‘Start planning the next bit of my life, I guess.’
‘You’ve got to chase your dreams,’ Ruby said.
Lethbridge gazed across the piazza and nodded. The choir was building, voices soaring like birds. A fresh gust of wind parted the clouds and a shaft of sunlight fell onto the paving stones twenty paces away—right onto the figure of a young woman feeding breadcrumbs to the flock of pigeons and doves that was descending around her.
As if in slow motion, she tossed back her head, throwing out a mane of auburn hair.
Lethbridge looked like he’d just seen an angel. He stood, reached out and shook Gerald, Sam and Ruby by the hand. ‘Best of luck,’ he said. ‘And thank you. Now, excuse I.’
Before any of them could respond, Lethbridge was marching towards the woman. He paused, bent down and scooped one of the birds up in a meaty paw.
‘Will you look at that,’ Ruby said.
Lethbridge was talking to the woman. And she was talking back. There was lots of gesticulating and finger pointing. Nodding of heads. Then the woman laughed.
‘Do you think he speaks any Italian?’ Gerald said.
‘He doesn’t need to,’ Ruby said. ‘He speaks pigeon. And so does she.’
‘I hate to admit it,’ Sam said, ‘but that’s sweet.’
‘What’s the matter, Sam? Are you going all soft?’ Gerald said. They wandered out of the piazza towards the station.
‘No, it’s not that,’ Sam said. ‘Old Lethbridge wasn’t that bad. It’s nice to see good things happen to good people.’
Ruby threw her arms around Gerald and Sam’s shoulders as they descended the stairs into the subway.
‘Then let’s hope we count as good people,’ she said.
Chapter 16
Gerald stared at the number on the door. It was painted a brooding shade of red and matched the flamingo of the corridor walls and the maroon of the carpet. His finger hovered a centimetre from the doorbell. He’d assured Sam and Ruby that he was okay with this; that they didn’t need to worry about him. Gerald had left them in a piazza to find a phone box while he set off on this task alone.
But now he was having second thoughts.
What if she wasn’t pleased to see him? What if Inspector Jarvis was inside waiting?
What if?
What if?
Gerald swallowed. And pressed the doorbell.
The door flung open almost immediately—as if someone inside had been waiting for him.
A woman launched herself across the threshold and threw her arms around his neck.
Gerald gave in to the embrace, instinctively closing his eyes and breathing in the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5 and cold tea. Vi Wilkins pulled her son into the hotel suite and spun him around, making his shoes skiffle across the top of the plush carpet.
‘My darling boy,’ she trilled, a little too shrilly, in Gerald’s right ear. ‘I’ve been worried sick.’
Gerald’s face was pressed into his mother’s bosom and for a second he struggled to breathe.
‘Mum!’ His muffled cry searched for an exit from the folds of the silk blouse. ‘Mum! Lemmego!’
With a shove, Gerald managed to extract himself from his mother’s bear hug. He stumbled backwards and his foot caught the corner of a coffee table, sending him to the floor.
He stared up at his mother—and was shocked at what he saw.
Tears.
Genuine tears.
His mother was crying.
‘Mum, what’s the matter?’
Vi let the tears track channels through her make-up. She dropped to her knees and took Gerald’s hands.
‘We’ve been so worried,’ she sniffed, her eyes ringed in red. ‘We had no idea where you were, if you were safe. Your father’s in London in case you turned up back there. He’s in a state, and all. Why did you run, Gerald? You know we’ll always support you, no matter what you’ve done.’
Gerald pulled his hands from his mother’s grasp. ‘But I haven’t done anything!’
‘Of course you haven’t. That’s what I meant to say. Your father and I just need to know that you’re safe.’
Gerald wasn’t sure what to make of his mother’s performance. ‘But Mum, all you seem to care about is the money,’ he said.
Vi was fiddling with an enormous diamond ring on her right hand. ‘Oh, Gerald, that’s not true. I won’t deny I’ve enjoyed your new wealth. But anything I’ve done has been with your long-term interests in mind, my darling boy. When you were born your Great Aunt Geraldine paid for all of us—your father, me and you— to move to Australia. She insisted it would be better for your health. I wasn’t keen
at first. I thought she was trying to hide us away on the far end of the world. But I always tried to keep in Geraldine’s good books. You know. Just in case. So I put up with the heat and the flies and the isolation and that appalling accent. And it’s paid off, my darling boy. Look at us now!’
‘Mum, I’m on the run accused of murder.’
‘Yes. Well. Apart from that, everything else has gone swimmingly.’
Gerald tugged on his mother’s hand and she sat on the rug next to him.
‘Mum, when we were in India, Mr Hoskins told me that Geraldine sent us to Australia because she thought I was special somehow. She wanted to protect me.’
Vi spun the ring on her finger. ‘I suppose there must be some reason she left you all that money.’
Gerald pulled out the photograph of Great Aunt Geraldine from his wallet. It was damaged at the edges after the drenching in the grotto. He peeled open the billfold. It was empty. He laughed to himself. ‘Walking around money,’ he murmured.
‘What’s that, dear?’
‘When Geraldine left me her estate, she also left me this wallet. It was full of cash—walking-around money, she called it.’ He laughed again, then sat upright, electrified by a jolt of realisation. ‘It’s all walking-around money!’
‘It’s all what, dear?’
‘Her whole fortune—all the money, the houses, helicopters and yachts. It’s all one huge wad of walking-around money, to give me the freedom to find the secret.’
‘Secret? What secret?’
‘Behind the hidden caskets, Mum. Why our ancestors defied an emperor and paid for it with their lives. Why Mason Green was so desperate to get hold of the golden rods. And why Charlotte has taken over where he left off.’
‘Charlotte?’ Vi was having trouble keeping up.
‘Geraldine wanted me to solve this puzzle and she left me the means to do it. If only I had those letters she left for me too.’ Gerald felt a surge of determination reignite his insides. The path forward was clear. He pulled himself up from the floor.
‘Gerald?’ Vi looked at her son with uncertainty. ‘What are you going to do?’
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