It is not Aunty.
It is Frost.
Chapter 27
The Bell Foundry
Anna backs away and Will too retreats from the window, allowing himself enough distance to watch Frost without being seen. Aunty must be dead. Frost is scanning the area. He looks in the direction of the bell foundry, first at the gate and then up to the window where Will stands rooted to the spot.
Will swallows, but does not move.
Despite the darkness, Will swears he can see Frost smile as he walks towards the entrance to the yard.
Will looks around for an escape route but there is none. The only way out is the way they came in. He has to think. He goes out onto the platform and, over the top of the bell, he sees the gate opening. They are done for. Hurrying back inside he scans the tables for a weapon. Anna has picked up a hammer. But using tools as weapons against guns won’t help them for long. Will has an idea. It seems stupid and dangerous but what choice do they have? He picks up some of the heaviest screws.
‘Do you have a handkerchief?’ he asks.
Anna produces one from her sleeve. Will takes it and begins tearing it up. He whispers the plan and, to his surprise, she agrees. She looks at him and smiles, almost fearlessly.
‘Easy.’
Her confidence spurs him on and they slip cautiously out onto the scaffolding platform. He can see Frost below with a pistol in his hand, searching the yard. Will tosses the screws into the air and they scatter across the ground. Frost spins on his feet pointing his pistol first in one direction then another.
Will signals to Anna and she moves across to the other side of platform behind the bell. The platform boards creak and Will sees Frost looking up in their direction. Frost begins climbing the steps, his pistol pointing towards them. Will dips back into the shadows and waits.
It is only moments, but it seems like forever before Will hears Frost approach, his large frame moving cautiously across the platform.
Hiding in the darkness of the workshop, Will holds his breath. Frost stops at the platform entrance, his gun, a Browning automatic, raised and pointing inside.
Will readies himself but Frost glances to his right. For a moment Will thinks Anna has blown their cover, but then it comes – the thunderous clang of the bell slammed by the hammer. The air vibrates and the platform trembles as Frost covers his ears. Will springs from the shadows, charging towards him. The bell rings again and Frost, searching for the bell ringer, does not anticipate the force of Will as he slams hard into him, driving him to the edge of the platform. The Browning slips from his grasp and clatters against surface of the bell as it falls.
Will tries to pull back but he is too far forward, his upper body hovering dangerously over the precipice. Frost starts to fall but quickly grabs Will’s arm and pulls him onto the rough metal of the bell. Together they tumble down, Frost squeezing Will’s neck and snarling like an animal.
They hit the lip of the bell, topple over and crash to the ground. Choking and winded, Will lands on top of Frost whose grip has loosened. Will acts fast, lifting his fist ready to slam into Frost’s face but the Colonel’s head is turned sideways, his eyes closed. For a moment, Will thinks he is dead, but he can see his chest moving.
Will sees the Browning across the yard. Scrambling off Frost he races toward the gun and swings around, pointing the pistol back at his slumped form. Frost remains unconscious, eyes closed. Will hears Anna running down the steps.
‘Are you hurt?’
He is bruised and sore, but otherwise alright. ‘I’m fine,’ he says and allows himself to be helped by Anna out of the bell foundry. They both remove the small pieces of torn handkerchief they had used to protect their ears.
As they make their way down Whitechapel Road, Will checks that they are not being followed, his hand firmly on the gun in his trouser pocket, his eyes wary of passers-by who, thankfully, do not give them a second look. His head is muddled with the events of the evening. They have been lucky again, he thinks. He wonders just how much longer their luck will hold out.
A red double-decker bus pulls up at a nearby stop. Will has no idea where it is going, but it will take them away from the Bell Foundry and Frost, who could wake at any moment. They board the bus and sit together upstairs.
‘How are you feeling?’ asks Anna.
Will does not want to admit he is terrified, confused and that all he wants is for this nightmare to end. He takes three deep breaths and lets the warmth of the bus calm him. ‘Better,’ he says.
Anna squeezes his hand and Will is grateful, so grateful, not to be alone.
They sit in silence as the bus makes its way into central London. They are on Oxford Street.
‘Let’s get out here,’ says Will. ‘Soho will be busy and we can lose ourselves in the crowd.’
They walk down Dean Street and stop at a café selling Italian coffee. He checks the coins Aunty gave him. There’s enough to get some sustenance and later make a call to Baker Street.
Inside the café, American jazz, laughter and cigarette smoke greet them. The people – who seem artistic types, ‘the bohemian set’ he has somewhere heard about – are relaxed and having fun. The contrast to Will’s life over the past few days makes his head spin. It is like a different world.
No one bats an eye at the two young people who have just walked in or seems to notice the curious bulge of the Browning in Will’s blazer pocket. Anna finds an empty table in the corner away from the door. An enthusiastic waiter with a shock of dark curly hair and a thick moustache wipes down their table.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Coffee,’ says Anna.
‘Si.’
‘Coffee, please,’ says Will.
‘Si, si. Very easy,’ he laughs. ‘Two coffees coming up.’
‘Let me see the notebook, please.’
Will takes it from his pocket and hands it across.
Anna flicks through the pages and opens at a sketch of a robed man holding a disc high above his head. He is standing on a mountaintop. A beam of light shines from the moon straight to the disc. She points at the disc.
‘What this chap is holding is…’ She flicks through the notebook and opens on a grainy photograph of a circular piece of metal with the constellations engraved upon it. ‘…is one of these.’
Will studies the photograph of the disc. Like so many other things recently, it seems frustratingly familiar.
‘I think it’s an astrolabe,’ explains Anna. ‘It’s a sort of tool used for determining the location of the sun and the planets and stars. My guess is the chap in the sketch is using his to find the Stones and I think this photograph is the one that will help us.’
Will feels a surge of excitement. ‘Anna, you are a genius! I know I have heard or read about astrolabes, but I can’t think where.’ He notices a poster on the wall opposite. It is in vivid colours and shows London’s pre-war tourist sites. He narrows in on one particular building, an idea dawning. ‘That’s it,’ he says.
‘What?’
At that moment, the waiter arrives and places their coffees and some water on the table. ‘Grazie,’ he says and leaves them again.
‘I know where we can find one,’ says Will.
Chapter 28
The British Museum
Will and Anna stand in the shadows of the British Museum’s forecourt, looking around. He has been here before, but when? His mind swirls; he steadies himself as images flicker in his head like random scenes from a movie. Among the images are astrolabes. Focusing, he pushes through the storm that is his memory, further, deeper until he eventually remembers: it was years ago, perhaps four, he was looking at them curiously, his hands and face pressed up against the glass of the display cabinet, wide like a glass coffin on legs. And there was a man watching him. A man he knows, but cannot place. He concentrates on the memory:
‘Do you know what these are?’ the man says.
Will shakes his head.
‘They’re astrolabes.’<
br />
Will looks at them. There are several, some made from brass, some silver and some gold. On their faces are maps of the night sky and lots of symbols.
‘What are they for?’ he asks.
The man smiles conspiratorially. ‘One day one of them will help you find a great treasure. One of them will set you free and give you what you most desire.’
Will focuses on his memory of the man and tries to make out his features through the storm. He can see him now. He knows the face. The spectacles. It was …
Will feels something squeeze his arm.
‘Will, you’re miles away,’ says Anna. ‘What’s wrong?’
He takes a breath and runs his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s nothing.’
But Will had remembered. Four years ago that man had been little more than a stranger. He looked different then, too. Younger compared to the photo.
It was Timothy Chittlock.
Will’s mind reels with questions. Was Eoin right about him being Chittlock’s sleeper? It had seemed a ludicrous suggestion, but Will has come to understand that he is no ordinary sixteen-year-old. Chittlock had been laying a path for him. But why? And what did Chittlock mean when he said the Stones would give Will what he most desired? And what of these feelings of grief and anger, which constantly haunt his darkest moments? Where do they stem from? Could they be why he became a sleeper? Finding the Stones seems the only way for him to get any answers. First things first, they must find the astrolabe.
‘Will?’
‘I’m fine.’
He takes three deep breaths and looks at the front of the museum. It has been mercifully spared by the bombs, for the time being anyway. The rows of columns remain sturdy, though some are charred from blasts that had not quite hit the mark.
There is no one around. It is late and the museum is locked up for the night. They make their way to the front entrance where Will examines the lock but finds it is too big and complex for his picks. They look for another entry point and skirt around to the east wing, darting behind the columns one at a time. He spots a tall sash window, its individual panes protected with anti-blast tape, almost six feet from the ground.
‘This should do,’ he says, wondering how they can get up there. But Anna already has the answer.
‘Lift me onto your shoulders.’
Will crouches underneath the window and Anna straddles his shoulders.
‘I’m ready,’ she says.
Will pushes up. Anna is surprisingly light and within seconds she is off his shoulders and on to the windowsill.
He hears the crack of breaking glass and is grateful the anti-blast tape has prevented it shattering onto the floor inside. Moments later something falls on his head. It is a thick golden rope, of the kind that might hold back a large curtain. He tests it; it seems secure. He looks up to see Anna beckoning him. He hauls himself up beside Anna.
The museum is vast, dark and empty as if… as if… everything is gone.
‘This place looks like it’s been cleared of exhibits,’ says Anna.
A twinge of anxiety grips him. He hopes they are not wasting their time.
It makes sense, obviously. With London being bombed almost every night, why keep all that precious history on display, waiting for the next attack.
‘Hopefully, not everything,’ says Will.
‘Do you remember where the astrolabes are?’ says Anna.
‘Unless they have been moved, they should be upstairs.’
Will shines the torch down the main foyer. The narrow beam of light picks out the emptiness. It is spooky – more like a mausoleum than a museum. He leads them across the marble floor, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous hall.
Up the staircase and onto the first floor, he shines the beam into every corner. They run from room to room, opening and closing doors, but all they find is dust. Desperate, Will hurries down to the ground floor, searching everywhere, opening gates and entering every possible room, but there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. He wants to cry out in frustration but instead kicks an old tin bucket that has been left behind by a cleaner. It clangs noisily across the room and Will swears angrily under his breath.
They stand in silence for a moment thinking what to do next. Will hears a creaking sound and then a door closing.
‘Who’s there?’ calls a voice.
Will flicks off the torch.
It is a man, old probably, judging by the gravelly tone. ‘I have a weapon and I’ll use it,’ the man says.
Will and Anna slip deeper into the shadows, crouching down out of sight. As his eyes adjust to the gloom, Will watches a small, trembling figure of a man appear, looking all around him. Will wonders who he is: a cleaner, a night watchman? No, he seems well dressed and has the look of an academic. Could he be the curator? If he is, what is he doing in a museum at this time of night with nothing to curate?
The old man is carrying an overcoat, which he clumsily pulls on before shuffling towards the main foyer, occasionally glancing back in their direction. Will hears a heavy door opening. The sound of distant traffic floats into the museum from outside. Then the door is pulled shut, the heavy lock turns and all is silent.
‘That was close,’ says Anna.
Will looks in the direction the curator had just come and makes his way cautiously toward it. Underneath a stairwell there is a doorway. He pulls the door open and discovers another wider stairwell leading down to a dark and windowless basement.
‘What is this place?’ says Anna.
‘We’ll soon find out.’
Satisfied there is no indication of anyone else being down here, Will switches on the torch. The basement is, in fact, a large office with a bank of filing cabinets along one wall and, in front of them, a mahogany desk covered by a stack of papers. It is cool down here and Will can feel a breeze. He points the beam towards it and sees another doorway on the opposite side of the room. He opens it.
Warm air blasts into his face and with it an age old smell of dust, oil and iron. It is a familiar smell. He shines his torch into the darkness and sees another stairwell, this one leading down into the ground. He hears a familiar rumbling noise in the distance: a tube train. This doorway is the entrance to the Underground. But why have an entrance here of all places? And then he remembers. The British Museum had an underground station, closed for use in 1933, but still very much here. But what was it used for now? Will’s heartbeat quickens. He looks at Anna and smiles.
‘I think we might have hit the jackpot.’
Chapter 29
The Astrolabe
Will and Anna make their way down the stairwell and into the deserted Underground station. The stone steps are well-worn and lead to a circular tunnel lined with pale green tiles, that are grubby with age and neglect. The station’s name is barely visible underneath the grime.
The passageway down to the platform is narrowed by hardwood boxes, filing cabinets and framed pictures draped in blankets. Will hears the rumble of another train and a blast of air cools his face. At the end of the tunnel, fixed to the wall, is a grey metal box with a lever switch labelled Lights. He pulls the lever and for a moment it seems nothing will happen, but then there is a fizzing and crackling noise and, one by one, the lights along the platform come on.
‘Wow,’ says Will, rubbing the back of his neck.
‘Look at all this stuff,’ says Anna.
It is like any other Underground station, except laid out on the platform and track is what seems like all the British Museum’s exhibits. There are bookshelves, paintings, Egyptian statues, rows of sarcophagi and mummies. There are Greek statues, Roman busts, Japanese swords and armour, Viking helmets, swords and shields. Hundreds and thousands of years of world history all stored out of harm’s way in a disused London Underground station.
This is the jackpot, thinks Will, but not exactly the one he was hoping for. In here, somewhere, amongst all of this history, is a single astrolabe that he needs to find. A needle in a haystack. The thought of s
earching through all this stuff is daunting and he has no idea where to start. Lucky for them they have the whole night ahead, but he has the feeling that might not be long enough.
‘This might be more difficult, than we think,’ says Anna, rather stating the obvious.
Will tries to get his bearings. He glances up and down the tunnel: ‘I think this is the eastbound route,’ he says.
‘I can start here,’ says Anna.
‘I’ll take the westbound and search the adjoining corridors and see what I can find.’
Anna smiles, ‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks. You too.’
‘If I find anything I’ll call you,’ she says as he makes his way to the other platform.
After almost two hours of searching boxes, Will’s task is interrupted by a thudding sound from up above. The walls vibrate and the dust ripples like shifting sand. It is late, and he knows above them, in the skies, the Nazis are dropping bombs. He takes small comfort that they are safe underground and turns his attention to the rows of boxes ahead of him.
He spends another few hours rifling through crates stuffed with straw protecting jewellery, vases, pots, wooden tools, but there are no signs of the astrolabes.
And then, he hears Anna’s voice, echoing through the tunnel. ‘Will, come quick!’
He runs to eastbound platform. Anna is pulling a blanket from a display cabinet concealed behind four tall blue and white vases. Easing his way through, he sees the cabinet Chittlock had shown him four years earlier.
It contains the same astrolabes: two golden, one silver and three bronze, all the size of plates. But there is a smaller one, made from a dark metal. It is chipped, scorched and worn with age. It looks familiar. Will opens the notebook and compares the photograph with the small dark astrolabe.
Engraved upon it are the planets and the constellations and, around its perimeter, are symbols: eyes, pyramids, scythes, swastikas, daggers and upturned crosses.
‘It’s the same one, isn’t it?’ says Anna.
Will smiles, ‘Yes. It’s the one we are looking for.’
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