The Billionaire’s Curse (22 page)

The thin man opened his mouth and cackled.

“The major?” he spat with contempt. “And me?” The cancerous laughter returned. “That old buffoon has no idea what he’s dealing with.” He tilted his head like a bird of prey and studied Gerald’s pale face.

“And neither do you, I suspect,” he said. “Such a shame for someone to die and not know the reason why, or what could have been.” The thin man twisted the tip of the dagger.

“The carotid or the jugular?” he mused. “Each just as effective.”

Gerald’s eyes shone wet. Thoughts and visions flooded his brain. Of his mother and father sunning themselves on an island half a world away, oblivious to his pain. Of his friends back home on a snowboarding holiday, friends he would never see again. Of this cursed inheritance that would surely end his life. Of Sam standing behind the thin man with the brass weathervane held high over his head…

Gerald’s eyes snapped back into focus. The thin man sensed movement behind him but turned too late. Sam swung the sculpture like an almighty pendulum, holding the long rod attached to its back, and caught the thin man square across the face. The impact lifted the vile creature off his feet and sent him sprawling across the flagstones. The air was filled with a tremendous bong as the archer resonated with the blow. The dagger flew from the thin man’s hand and clattered into the shadows.

The thin man regained his feet but could not stand upright. His sunglasses had been shattered by the blow, exposing two red eyes like sinkholes in the front of his face. Dazed, he brought a hand up to his head. As he withdrew it, Gerald saw it was covered in blood. The dark figure stumbled forward. But again Sam advanced, swinging the brass weapon, this time hitting the thin man hard across the chest. He flew spread-eagled backward into the night, as if he’d been yanked out by a rope around his waist. Gerald jumped to his feet and followed Sam out the door. Sam’s eyes were wide, his jaw set tight.

Outside the tower, they found the thin man on his hands and knees, sucking in air. He lifted his face to them. With his head silhouetted against the bonfire, the red eyes almost glowed in the dark. A thick trail of blood streamed from one ear. He spat onto the ground.

“You are all dead now,” he muttered.

The thin man’s hand disappeared inside his coat. It was halfway out, clutching a shining silver blade, when Sam strode forward, this time wielding the archer like an Olympic hammer thrower.

The night air was rent by another mighty toll as the archer struck under the thin man’s chin, snapping his head back and sending him flying off the terrace toward the bonfire.

Sam dropped the weathervane and picked up a stick the size of a baseball bat. He struck the thin man again and again as they skirted the bonfire, shouting in time with each blow, “Don’t. You. Ever. Hurt. My. Sister. Again.”

The final strike sent the thin man cartwheeling through the air, a whir of black-clad arms and legs. He landed on the straw witch, his limbs snared in firewood and pitch. The impact knocked the wheel from its mooring and set it rolling—straight toward the bonfire. The thin man was stuck fast, snared in the witch’s embrace.

“Quick!” Gerald shouted.

He and Sam made a dive for the wheel but it had picked up too much speed. It bounced past the thin man’s two victims and into the heart of the flames. The pitch-covered witch exploded as the wheel emerged at the other side, a blazing ball accelerating down the hill. The thin man’s screams disappeared as the wheel shot over a dip, sparks flying.

Gerald and Sam stood in silence until the wheel reappeared at the foot of the hill, still burning and rolling toward a distant apple orchard.

Gerald glanced at Sam.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam panted. “You?”

“I think so. And thanks.”

“No problem.”

Gerald eyed the weathervane, lying on the ground where Sam had dropped it. “I thought you said that thing weighed a ton?”

Sam grinned. “Amazing what you can do when your blood’s up.”

The quiet was broken by a wail from the top of the tower. Gerald and Sam looked at each other in alarm.

“Ruby!”

They raced back into the tower, the bonfire behind them crackling bright, the full moon rising higher into the night sky.

R
uby’s arms and face were covered with scratches. Sitting astride the parapet, she concentrated on steadying the weathervane. Gerald, perched next to her, shunted the support rod toward a hole that they had found in the stonework. The opening was in the center of an archer etched into the rock. Despite centuries of pigeon poo, there was no mistaking the outline.

“Is this going to work?” Ruby asked.

“As long as Sam didn’t whack it out of shape too much, we should be okay,” Gerald said, nudging the rod along the stone with his shoulder. He paused. “Um, Ruby, did you see?”

Ruby shivered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Gerald nodded and went back to work. “There.” The weathervane dropped into place. “That’s it.”

From their position at the top of the tower, feet dangling either side of the wall, they gazed out into the evening and across the valley. The archer’s arrow pointed at Beaconsfield. The night was clear and the clock tower glowed in the distance. The first chimes of eleven o’clock rang up the vale on the back of a gentle breeze.

“You ready for this?” Gerald said to Ruby. He studied the scratches on her face, a line of dried blood on one cheek. “You’ve had a bit of a day.”

Ruby grinned without humor. “I think we’ve all had a day,” she said. She placed her hand on Gerald’s neck where the thin man’s knife had drawn blood.

“You’re hurt.”

Her touch was warm.

“I’ll be all right,” Gerald said. “Let’s see this thing through, okay?”

He tied the rope around Ruby’s waist and put her arms over his shoulders. Then, with a grunt of “Hold tight,” he pushed off from the wall. By the time Ruby opened her eyes again they had rappelled to the ground.

Ruby hugged Sam, and then the three of them ran out into the night.

Major Pilkington’s party was in full swing when they made it to the bottom of the stone stairs at Beaconsfield. Above them on the terrace, at least two hundred people talked and laughed raucously. The place was festooned with colored party lights and decorations. Against the backdrop of the vampire’s castle that was Beaconsfield, it was an extraordinary sight—like a New Year’s Eve party at a morgue. Waiters with trays of drinks moved through the crowd, and judging by the racket on the terrace, they had been busy all night.

“How are we going to crash this party?” Gerald asked the others.

“Are you kidding?” Ruby said. “They’re all tanked. We could be starkers and they wouldn’t notice. Come on, let’s have a look.”

They crept up to the top step and peered over the edge. The terrace was overflowing with immaculately dressed revelers. A set of speakers blared from the far end, but the music was almost drowned out by the noise emanating from the party guests. Men and women, middle-aged to elderly—the throng teemed in a constant swirl of laughter and champagne. Ruby nudged Gerald and pointed toward the house. Standing outside the study were the major and Arthur Chesterfield. The major appeared to be talking forcefully to the younger man. He consulted his watch, then with a jab of a finger dismissed Chesterfield, who hurried off across the terrace and into the night.

“Should we follow him?” Ruby asked.

“No point,” Gerald said. “I’ve lost sight of him already and—”

“Look!” Sam interrupted, pointing into the crowd. “It’s Gupta.”

Standing apart from the crowd and looking uncomfortable with the drunken revelry was Mr. Gupta, the owner of the missing diamond. He was dressed in a black dinner jacket with matching frown. His daughter, Alisha, wearing a purple sari embroidered with jewels, stood beside him. Her hair was pulled into an elegant plait that fell down her back, and she wore an orchid behind one ear. An expression of world-weary boredom was fixed on her face.

Ruby smirked. “Well, looks like she’s having a great time.”

“You don’t like her, do you?” Sam said.

“That’s not true,” Ruby replied. “She’s a bit of a princess, that’s all.”

“For all we know she is a princess,” Gerald said. “I think she looks kind of nice.”

“I think she looks kind of hot!” Sam said.

Ruby groaned. “Can we concentrate on the task, please? It’s almost midnight.”

Gerald glanced up at the clock tower. The archer weathervane stood overlooking the terrace and the party guests. Away in the distance St. Michael’s Tower was set against the night sky. And above them, the full moon rose ever higher.

Sam grabbed Gerald by the arm. “It’s still ten minutes till midnight,” he said. “I want to check something.” Without looking back, he leaped onto the terrace and jogged across to the study door.

“Sam!” Ruby hissed. “He is pure idiot, I swear.” She grabbed Gerald’s hand. “Come on.”

She dragged Gerald onto the terrace. A waiter holding a tray of soft drinks stood at the edge of the terrace, not doing a lot of business that night. Ruby rolled down her sleeves to cover her scratched arms, waltzed up and smiled at the waiter, taking a glass in each hand. “Here,” she said to Gerald, shoving a drink at him. “Act like you own the place.”

Ruby sauntered in the direction of the study, Gerald close behind. They were a few feet from the door when Ruby stopped and turned to face Gerald. He pulled up just short of her. “Quick,” she said, taking his hand again and yanking him into a knot of boisterous partygoers. “It’s Inspector Parrott!”

They hustled into the cover of the crowd. Peeking around a large woman in a long clinging dress, they could see Inspector Parrott, deep in conversation with the major’s mother. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

“What are we going to do?” Ruby yelled into Gerald’s ear, trying to be heard above the din. “If Parrott sees us here we’re dead meat!”

“Dunno,” Gerald replied. Then, in an urgent voice, “Look! It’s Constable Lethbridge. Over there by the bar.” On the far side of the terrace, dressed in a dirt-brown suit, stood Lethbridge, a pint glass in each hand.

“What is this? An open house?” Ruby said. “Come on. Parrott’s tied up talking to the major’s mother. Let’s make a dash for the door.”

They strode across the terrace toward the house. Checking over their shoulders to make sure they weren’t spotted by the inspector, they narrowly avoided running into the back of a large red-headed man. Gerald gagged at the sight of Professor McElderry inches away. Eyes bulging, Gerald spun on his toes and with Ruby in hand danced clear just as the professor turned around. Gerald didn’t breathe again until they were inside the study with the door shut behind them. The curtains along the windows overlooking the terrace were drawn, and the only light came from the lamp on the major’s desk.

They found Sam sitting in the chair, his feet on the desk, fiddling with the Japanese puzzle box.

“Oh, hello,” he said. “What took you so long?”

Ruby fumed. “Are you nuts? What are you doing in here? We’ve just seen the inspector and Lethbridge, out there.”

“Yes, I know,” Sam replied, not taking his eyes off the box. “The professor too. And Gerald, I think I saw your mad uncle.”

“Sid?” Gerald said. “Why would he be here?”

“He and the major were neighbors, weren’t they? Could be friends.”

The concept of Sid having friends threw Gerald for a second before he remembered time was tight.

“We should be outside,” Gerald said.

Sam continued to fumble with the small wooden box, flipping switches and sliding panels, but it remained shut. He smiled.

“Time to think outside the box,” he said. He lifted up a heavy Bakelite telephone from the desk and brought it down on top of the container in a crash of splintering wood and twisting springs.

Ruby was incredulous. “What did you do that for?”

“What?” Sam asked as he picked through the remains. “Gerald was keen to get a move along.”

Gerald reached over Sam’s shoulder and grabbed the folded paper that the major had consulted the first time they’d been in the study. He brushed the broken box bits aside and laid the paper on the desk. Three heads converged above it.

On the page was a detailed drawing of a long rectangular casket, its sides set with hundreds of jewels. The lid was decorated with an intricate pattern of suns and moons. In the middle was the profile of a bare-chested archer. And set into the archer’s muscled torso was an enormous diamond.

Sam traced his finger under some text at the bottom of the page. “
La boîte des diamants
…that must mean the diamond box,” he said. “
L’une des trois
. One of three!”

“There are three of these things?” Ruby said, raising her eyebrows.

Gerald checked his watch. “Well, in five minutes we’ll be closer to finding one of them. We better get back outside, it’s—”

“What are you doin’ in here?” A flat droning voice interrupted them.

Gerald, Sam, and Ruby froze. Standing in the open doorway to the terrace were the unsmiling figures of Octavia and Zebedee.

“Oh no,” Gerald groaned. “What do you want?” He folded the paper and slid it into his back pocket.

Octavia scowled. “We’d like our home back, for a start,” she said.

Gerald threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Look, we haven’t got time for that now,” he said, marching toward the door. “It’s got nothing to do with—”

Zebedee stepped across and blocked Gerald’s path, pushing him back into the room.

“Hey,” Gerald said. “Will you stop doing that?”

Octavia smiled grimly. “Waddya reckon, Zeb? Break and enter? Destruction of property? Should be enough for time inside. And with him out of the way, maybe we can get our home back.”

Gerald’s mouth tightened.

“You little—”

Octavia snubbed her nose at her cousin. “Zeb, go get Dad.” She seemed used to giving the orders. Her brutish brother took a step toward the door.

“Wait!”

It was Ruby. She moved quickly across to Octavia. “If you go now you’re going to miss out.”

Gerald was stunned. What was she up to?

Zebedee paused in the doorway.

“Miss out on what?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t tell you this. It’s about that diamond, the one that was stolen from the museum in London.”

“What are you telling them that for?” Sam protested.

Ruby turned to her brother and shrugged.

“Oh come off it, Sam,” Ruby said. “The whole reason we’re down here. Why Gerald inherited that house. They were always gonna figure it out.”

“Figure out what, princess?” Octavia asked, hands on her hips.

Ruby didn’t miss a beat. “That the stolen diamond is hidden in this room.”

She crossed to the bookcase and removed the beaten copy of
The Odyssey
from the shelf.

“Come see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Ruby buried her arm deep between the neighboring books and a clunk sounded behind the fireplace. Octavia and Zebedee looked at each other, then scurried across. They peered into the dark opening behind the grate.

Ruby snatched Gerald’s backpack and pulled out a flashlight, handing it to Octavia.

“It’s hidden in a chest inside.”

Octavia glared at Ruby but curiosity won out. She flicked on the flashlight and led her brother through the fireplace to the tunnel. The moment they crossed the threshold, the panel snapped back into place, sealing them inside.

“That oughta hold them for a while,” Ruby said in a satisfied tone. “Come on, you two. Time’s almost up.”

They left the muffled sound of fists beating on metal and ran outside.

The party had moved onto the lawn on the other side of the rose garden, about fifty yards away from the house. Apart from a few waiters collecting glasses, the only person on the terrace was an elegantly dressed man leaning on a cane. Alerted by the sound of three sets of feet scuttling across the flagstones behind him, he turned.

“Sir Mason!” Gerald called out as he skidded to a stop, the others bundling into the back of him.

Sir Mason Green, his silver hair shining in the moonlight, gave a surprised smile.

“Gerald, I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. “Come to watch the fireworks? The others are down on the lawn—my leg slows me up these days.”

“Sir Mason,” Gerald blurted out. “I think we know where the diamond is!”

Green stared at him. “Oh, really?”

He listened intently as Gerald poured out the events of the past few days: the mystery of the diamond casket and the peak of eternal light, the missing weathervane, the attack by the thin man at St. Michael’s Tower, and the two people he murdered. Green’s eyes widened at the description of the thin man trapped in the burning wheel, rolling down the Tor.

“Extraordinary,” he said. “We must inform the police at once. This is a very serious matter.”

Before any of them could move, the first haunting toll of midnight rang down from the clock tower. The full moon was now directly overhead.

“This is it,” Ruby said. “Midnight on Midsummer’s Eve!”

The bell tolled again. The revelers on the lawn started a countdown.

“Ten…nine…”

“This better work,” Gerald muttered.

“…eight…seven…”

The moon above them was so bright, so clear, the craters on its surface so vivid.

“…six…five…”

Ruby grabbed Gerald’s arm and squeezed hard.

“…four…three…”

The archer atop the clock tower seemed to grow in stature, a dull glow emanating from its torso.

“…two…one…”

The night sky exploded in a firestorm of blazing light. The squeals of delight at the fireworks from the partygoers on the lawn were in stark contrast to the speechless awe that gripped Green, Gerald, Sam, and Ruby. Directly above them, the moon shimmered. A shaft of brilliant white light scored down from the heavens, splitting the sky and striking like lightning the upper battlement of St. Michael’s Tower. A beam seared across the valley, making a direct connection with the weathervane atop the Beaconsfield clock tower. The archer juddered, emitting a high pitched hum that cut through the squeals from the lawn and etched itself into the heads of the four people on the terrace. They clapped their hands to their ears as the hum grew to a deafening intensity. Green’s cane clattered onto the tiles. The archer shook at its moorings, and Gerald felt sure it would explode when, from the tip of the archer’s arrow, a sharp bolt of blue light shot into the grounds of Beaconsfield.