‘He’s out of prison,’ Sam said. ‘What does he care if Brahe gets his pendant or not.’
‘Maybe he believes in paying his debts,’ Ruby said.
Gerald grunted. ‘Mason Green and honesty don’t exactly go together. He’s brewing something. And I really don’t like what he said about Alisha and Ox.’
A gust of wind blew across the square, kicking up a flurry of snowflakes. ‘Do you think Brahe will bring your parents?’ Felicity asked.
‘I doubt it,’ Gerald said. ‘He’ll probably phone someone and have them released from wherever he’s holding them. They could be anywhere.’
‘You’ve got the crystal?’ Ruby asked.
Gerald’s gloved hand closed tighter around the pendant in his pocket. ‘For the fourth time, yes.’
They stared up at the clock. The minute hand crawled towards the twelve. As the hour began to strike, a skeleton perched on one side of the clock face sprang to action, swinging a silver bell. Two wooden doors slid open and a parade of puppet figures revolved past the openings.
‘What’s with the skeleton?’ Sam asked.
‘Death,’ Ruby said. ‘Every toll of the bell is a mark closer to when you get to meet him.’
‘And you get reminded of that every hour?’ Sam said. ‘Cheery.’
As the last of the tolls rang through the still afternoon air, a trumpeter in a uniform trimmed in red and yellow appeared high on the tower ramparts. He sounded a clarion call. As the notes floated away, he banged his gloved hands against his sides, then disappeared back into the warmth of the guard house.
Gerald looked around. Nothing stirred. He sucked frozen air into his lungs. ‘I don’t like the look of this,’ he said.
Then a low rumble sounded from across the square. Two motorcycles appeared from a narrow laneway.
Sam nudged Gerald. ‘I think your man’s arrived.’
Twin figures dressed in black leathers rode towards them, their spiked winter tyres biting into the snow. Gerald, Sam, Felicity and Ruby edged closer together, shoulders pressed against shoulders.
The bikes spun around on the slippery surface and pulled up beside them.
Neither rider wore a helmet. The smaller man had a face like the last dog left in the pound—round, pressed flat and eyes that looked like they could roll out of their sockets at any moment. The larger man wore a black balaclava. He pulled it from his head, and Sam and Ruby suppressed a gasp. Tycho Brahe’s silver nose seemed to glow blue in the dusk light.
‘A little cooler than our last meeting, Gerald,’ Brahe said, snowflakes settling in the tangle of his beard. He coughed into his gloved hand. Despite the cold, a sheen of perspiration glistened across his brow.
Sam stood opened-mouthed. He couldn’t take his eyes from Brahe’s face.
The man glared down at him. ‘Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to stare?’
Sam bridled at the mention of his mother. He opened his mouth to say something but Ruby grabbed him by the arm and flashed her eyes. Now was not the time to argue.
Brahe laughed. ‘What’s the matter, Mr Valentine? Cat got your tongue?’
Sam couldn’t help himself. ‘No. Jack Frost been nipping at your nose?’
The man’s face went dark. He spun around to Gerald. ‘You have the prism?’
Gerald nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But not here.’
Brahe bristled—and he was not the only one. Ruby took Gerald by the elbow and hissed in his ear. ‘What are you doing?’
Gerald shrugged her off, not taking his eyes from Brahe. ‘Where are our parents? Where are Ox and Alisha?’ he asked. ‘I’m not handing over anything until I know they’re free.’
Brahe tilted his head. A thought crackled across his eyes, like lightning in a bottle. Then the edge of his mouth curled up a fraction.
‘They’re not here,’ he said. ‘But they’re not far away.’ Snow continued to pile onto Brahe’s head and shoulders. He ignored it. ‘Do not think for a second that you are in a position to negotiate,’ he said. He chucked his chin towards his companion, who had remained silent, straddling his motorbike. ‘A word to my colleague here and you will be rejoicing in your new status as an orphan.’
The smaller man leaned into Brahe. ‘We must hurry,’ he said. ‘There’s still the castle. We need to find Vaclav. And Jan and Sigmund.’
Brahe waved him off. He glared at Gerald. ‘Give me the prism.’
Ruby grabbed Gerald’s arm again and swung him around. ‘Give it to him, Gerald! What’s the matter with you?’
Gerald shook himself free. ‘We don’t know where they are,’ he said, glaring at Ruby, ‘or even if they’re okay.’
Ruby tore the glove from her hand and shoved it into Gerald’s jacket pocket, reefing him from side to side as she searched for the pendant.
She pulled her hand free and shoved Gerald away, sending him tumbling into the snow. ‘Here,’ Ruby said to Brahe. ‘Take it. Take the stupid thing.’ Her voice caught in her throat. The pendant swung from its silver chain, looped around Ruby’s finger.
Brahe reached for the prism.
Gerald struggled to get up.
Then the world caved in on them.
A chorus of shrill whistles cut the air. From his position on his back in the snow, Gerald looked up to see three coils of rope launch over the parapet of the clock tower. Moments later, three figures clad in black military fatigues were rappelling face first down the side of the ancient building. Shouts broke out across the square. Sharp, urgent calls. Gerald couldn’t make out the words, but he could tell they meant business. He rolled onto his knees. From laneways and shopfronts, men brandishing handguns and assault rifles emptied into the square. A single shot echoed like a thunderclap.
Brahe moved quickly. He snatched the chain from Ruby’s hand and threw his leg over his idling motorbike. His hand flew to the throttle and he opened it wide. The machine roared and smoke shot from the exhaust.
Gerald knew he had to act.
He threw out his hand a second before the bike kicked into gear. He wrapped his fingers around the sissy bar at the back of Brahe’s seat just as the machine surged forward. Gerald’s arm snapped taut, his shoulder was almost yanked from its socket. The rear of the bike spun around, flipping Gerald onto his backside. The snow tyres buzzed bare centimetres from his ear as the spikes struggled to grip the powder. Gerald could feel his fingers slipping. Brahe slammed the machine sidewards. The impact twisted Gerald into the air. He landed on his feet, square behind the bike. Without thinking, he latched his free hand onto the other side of the sissy bar. The rear wheel bit into the snow and the bike took off across the square, towing Gerald behind it like a water skier.
Gerald could still make out shouts coming from behind him, but the roar of the engine drowned out almost everything. His eyes dropped to the spiked snow tyre that was now spinning uncomfortably close to the crotch of his jeans. A sudden bump and that would be the end of the Wilkins family line.
Gerald clenched his teeth and looked up. Brahe was heading towards the far corner of the square, gunning the engine for all it was worth. Gerald clung on, his boots buffeting across the snow. They were following Brahe’s partner, who made a sudden turn towards the church on the eastern perimeter. Gerald shot a look over his shoulder. Ruby, Sam and Felicity were surrounded by armed men—and three police motorcycles were surging after him.
Gerald spun his head forwards again—and spotted the crystal pendant. It was strung around Brahe’s right wrist, the prism flailing in the wind.
It was the only bargaining chip Gerald had. If he ever wanted to see his parents again, he had to get it back.
At that point, Brahe noticed he had a passenger.
His head swivelled and Gerald stared straight into his eyes. Brahe threw a hand back, swiping at him. Gera
ld ducked, then had the unnerving sensation of the fork of his pants being shredded. He looked down to see the snow tyre had sliced clean through the main seam of his jeans. His purple boxer shorts were flapping in the very cold wind.
‘Eep!’ Gerald cried.
He looked up just in time to duck another swinging fist from Brahe. Instinctively, Gerald shot out a hand to scrabble at Brahe’s face. His fingers closed around something cold and hard.
Brahe lost control of the bike for a second. It wobbled and the shake reverberated though the machine like an earthquake. Gerald was flung clear. He sailed through the air and smacked hard into a snow bank. He struggled upright to find his pants full of snow and a silver nose in the palm of his right hand.
Brahe leapt from the still-moving bike and disappeared through a doorway at the base of the Tyn Church.
Gerald scrambled after him, diving through the door and up a covered lane. He skidded through an archway and found himself inside the ancient church. The ceiling soared high above. The air carried a trace of incense. The cold was accentuated by the bare stone floor and the kilogram of snow that was still packed into Gerald’s underpants. He looked around.
Candles.
Stained glass.
The fug of wood polish.
And a trail of snow leading up the right aisle.
Gerald scarpered past rows of pews, following the trail towards the front of the church. Rounding the corner near the altar, his feet flew out from beneath him. He crashed onto his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. Momentum carried him across the floor, and he came to a stop at the edge of an open grave. A large slab of black granite lay next to the pit.
Gerald peered down.
The grave was empty.
Police arrived behind him, guns drawn, calling into radios. But Gerald was oblivious to the commotion. All he could see were the two words chiselled into the gravestone, weathered and chipped with age.
The name of the grave’s one-time occupant.
Tycho Brahe.
Chapter 21
Mr Pimbury stood before them, his arms crossed and his face set to maximum fury.
Gerald, Sam, Felicity and Ruby had just endured two hours with the Prague police, answering questions and making excuses. Gerald was in no mood to sit through a repeat session in their hotel suite with his stand-in butler.
‘Look, Mr Pimbury,’ he said, ‘we’ve said we’re sorry and there’s really nothing else to say. We told the police everything we know. And that’s that.’ He tossed Brahe’s silver nose from hand to hand. ‘We’re no closer to finding our parents, or Ox and Alisha. So unless you want to start the girls crying again, I suggest you leave it.’
Gerald gave Ruby and Felicity a meaningful look. They both started sniffling.
Mr Pimbury raised his eyes to the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. ‘I’ve spoken with Mr Prisk in London,’ he said. ‘He has instructed that you are not to leave this suite until the snow clears and we can fly home. You can drown in your tears for all I care. Now, I am going down to the lounge, and I shan’t be drinking tea.’
Mr Pimbury closed the double doors behind him with a bang.
Gerald flopped onto an ottoman opposite the others who were seated on a long couch.
Felicity, Ruby and Sam recoiled. ‘Whoa!’
Gerald looked at them, surprised. ‘What’s the matter?’
Sam covered his face with a hand and pointed to Gerald’s pants. ‘You might want to do something about that,’ he said.
Gerald looked down to the gaping hole in his jeans.
‘Whoops,’ he said, jumping to his feet. He dived into the main bedroom and rummaged around for a change of clothes.
Ruby’s voice floated in from the lounge. ‘What’s the story with the open grave in the church, Gerald?’
Gerald found a fresh pair of jeans and pulled them on. ‘Brahe’s name was on the gravestone,’ Gerald called back. ‘It looked really old. Like hundreds of years old.’
‘What are you saying?’ Felicity called out. ‘That we’re chasing after a ghost?’
Gerald wandered back into the lounge, pulling his shirt free from his waistband.
‘Thank you for doing that,’ Sam said. ‘It was quite off-putting.’
Gerald settled back onto the ottoman. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said with a polite nod, and turned to Felicity. ‘Now, as for ghosts—’
Ruby interrupted him. ‘Don’t even start talking that nonsense, Gerald. Ghosts do not exist. Let’s not waste any time going down that path.’
Gerald held up a hand. ‘Don’t be so hasty,’ he said. ‘Let’s look at the facts. There’s an empty grave in that church with Brahe’s name on it.’
‘Maybe it’s a common name around here,’ Ruby said.
‘A common name?’ Gerald said. ‘Oh yes, you can’t go ten steps down the street without bumping into a dozen Tycho Brahes. Every year the maternity wards are pumping out tiny Tychos by the truckload. Call out “Tycho Brahe” in any schoolyard and you’ll be deafened by the cries of “Yes?” I’ve heard that—’
‘All right,’ Ruby said. ‘You’ve made your point.’
‘My point is that we can’t discount anything,’ Gerald said.
‘Even ghosts?’ Felicity said.
Gerald grabbed his jacket from the floor. ‘When the police were taking me out of the church, I passed a table with a bunch of postcards for sale. This was one of them.’ He pulled a card from the pocket and flicked it to Ruby.
It was a photograph of a marble bas-relief sculpture. On the top was a life-size image of a man dressed in ancient armour. One hand gripped the hilt of a sword while the other rested on a globe of the world. The man’s nose had a large gash carved into it.
‘What’s this say?’ Ruby asked. She pointed to lettering that ran around the border of the tombstone.
‘It’s Latin, I think,’ Gerald said. ‘But there’s Tycho Brahe’s name and if I’ve got my Roman numbers right it says he died in 1601.’
Ruby studied the card, shaking her head. ‘How can that be?’ she said. ‘That looks exactly like—’ She couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘Like Tycho Brahe,’ Gerald said. ‘The same man we just saw walking and talking down in the square.’
They sat in silence. Felicity tapped Gerald on the arm. ‘I’m totally lost. How does this empty grave fit in with the crystal pendant?’
Gerald rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Let’s go back to the beginning. Mason Green took his dinner jacket to the cleaners, and he left the pendant in his pocket.’
‘Brahe’s gone to a lot of trouble to get it,’ Felicity said. ‘It must be really valuable.’
‘So valuable that Green leaves it in his jacket?’ Ruby said. ‘That doesn’t seem likely.’
‘Green said he just wore it as a lucky charm,’ Gerald said.
‘Odd for a billionaire not to know the value of something,’ Sam said. ‘Especially since he likes collecting old stuff.’
‘But mostly old documents,’ Gerald said. ‘Not stuff like jewellery.’
‘There was that old bottle,’ Ruby said. ‘Not that there’s much of that left, thanks to Felicity.’
Felicity’s cheeks went pink. ‘I hope Special Agent de Bruin is all right.’
‘Agent de Useless, more like,’ Gerald said. ‘There’s no way he’s with the FBI. The Czech police told me they were waiting for Brahe in the square after they were tipped off by the UK authorities who had been monitoring my phone in case the kidnappers made contact.’
Sam leaned across and took the silver nose from Gerald. He rolled it around in his hand. ‘Whether he’s a ghost or not, that Brahe’s face is something else.’
‘How about his little friend?’ Felicity sai
d, giggling. ‘He was pug ugly.’
‘And what’s with Brahe perspiring all the time?’ Gerald said. ‘Have you noticed? It doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold, he sweats like a fat man in a sauna.’
Sam laughed. ‘Sweaty and Pugly. Quite the team.’ He buffed the silver nose against his shirt and held it up to the shimmering chandelier.
Gerald held out his hand. ‘Here, toss that over.’
Sam gave him a sly grin. ‘Make me.’
There was a gunslinger’s silence.
Gerald glanced at Sam.
Ruby’s eyes flicked towards Felicity.
Felicity slowly reached out a hand and wrapped her fingers around the corner of a cushion…
The first shot hit Sam square in the jaw. Felicity’s cushion had enough force behind it to send him jolting into the back of the couch. It was followed by three more in quick succession as Gerald and Ruby whipped cushions at Sam’s head, before diving for cover behind a chaise lounge.
‘You’ll pay for that!’ Sam called. He rolled over the back of the couch to the floor and scrambled to collect ammunition.
The battle of Prague was on.
Sam flung a bolster over the couch like a grenade. It smacked into an end table and knocked a stack of magazines across the floor. He poked his head above the parapet and was instantly claimed by a whirling pillow that struck like a padded Ninja star.
Felicity yelled a victory cry. ‘Gotcha!’
Gerald was on his feet, gathering up things to hurl. ‘This is why they call them throw cushions!’ He skidded around the side of the couch where Sam was sheltering and let loose a barrage.
Ruby had raced into the bedrooms and returned with pillows stacked under both arms. She tossed a couple to Felicity. ‘It’s girls versus boys, Flicka! Let’s get ’em!’
Gerald looked to Sam under a pile of cushions and jumped down beside him. ‘Shove over,’ he said. ‘Looks like I’m switching teams.’
Sam emerged from beneath his padded pile. ‘Good to have you onboard,’ he said.
They both grabbed a cushion in each hand and stood up. They hadn’t counted on the girls kneeling on the couch, pillows cocked and ready to go. Ruby and Felicity hit as one. The impact split the covers and an explosion of goose feathers billowed into the air.
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