The Firebird Mystery (5 page)

Jack turned to his mentor. ‘What a time to be alive!'

‘Steam.' Mr Doyle shot him a smile. ‘Where would we be without it?'

CHAPTER FIVE

The airship sailed over the city. ‘I had to apply for a passenger pilot's licence,' Mr Doyle explained. ‘I'm now qualified to fly an airship containing up to sixteen passengers.'

‘You're a man of many talents,' Scarlet said.

A thought occurred to Jack. ‘Were you in the war, Mr Doyle?'

‘I was.'

‘And what did you do?'

Mr Doyle did not answer for so long that Jack thought he hadn't heard. He turned away from the view and looked into the man's face. He saw a frozen expression, as if the detective were staring into the past.

‘I commanded a regiment in France,' he finally said. ‘Many men served under me. Young men. Good men.' He said the words stiffly, struggling to put the sentences together. ‘We fought many battles. Some we won. Others we lost.' He looked down and tapped his leg. ‘That's where this happened. A piece of shrapnel, courtesy of the Kaiser. Still in there.'

Scarlet was frowning at Jack. He didn't know why. ‘Do you have any medals, Mr Doyle?' Jack asked.

‘There is a time and a place for that question,' Mr Doyle said. ‘This is neither.'

‘London is changing.' Scarlet peered out over the landscape. ‘The city is growing all the time. The old buildings are being torn down and replaced by new.'

I'm an idiot
, Jack thought. The older girl had been quicker to sense that Mr Doyle felt uncomfortable discussing the war.

‘Milverton's invention of Terrafirma has changed everything,' Mr Doyle said.

Jack was lost. Who was Milverton? ‘Ah yes,' he said, regardless. ‘Milverton's Terrafirma. Good old Milverton. And that Terrafirma. So terrible. So firm.'

Both Scarlet and Mr Doyle were looking at him.

‘All right,' Jack shrugged. ‘I give up. What does it do?'

‘Terrafirma was created by Douglas Milverton, a member of the Darwinist League,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Engineered in a lab in Surrey, it has a strength two hundred times that of steel. The compound can be used to coat individual bricks, stonework and other materials to build structures far larger than anything ever thought possible.'

‘Aren't the Darwinist League...' Jack started.

Mr Doyle looked at him.

‘…witches? I mean, giant cows and fish that breathe air? How can that be real?'

The detective laughed. ‘Their inventions do seem strange, but they're no more a witch than I am. They're evolutionary scientists working at the cutting edge of biological knowledge.'

‘So what's it made from? Terrafirma, I mean.'

‘It's actually a type of mould,' Mr Doyle said.

‘Mould? You mean like on bread?'

‘Rather less tasty, I'm afraid.'

‘I understand the league's research is strictly controlled by the government,' Scarlet said.

‘It is,' Mr Doyle said. ‘And many of their inventions have been amazingly successful. Cows are now twice the size they once were. Wheat is three times the height. Trout and other fish are now air breathers, making them easier to breed and take to market.'

Jack was still dubious, but there was no denying their achievements.

The airship rose above the West End, revealing the entire horizon of London. The new mega structures, all built since the Great War, lay before them—the new Parliament House, the new Art Museum and the new Buckingham Palace. All three buildings climbed over two hundred storeys in height—but what drew the eye was the
pièce de résistance
of British engineering.

The London Metrotower.

‘Terrafirma is changing the world,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Without it, the metrotower would not exist. Nor a hundred other advances in the last few years. Scientists are even talking about putting a man on the moon.'

A man on the moon?
Jack thought.
What a daft idea.

They seated themselves around the small bridge and travelled in silence as they continued to ascend. London lay beneath them, smoke and steam rising up from it, blanketing the city in a shifting grey cloud. Mr Doyle manoeuvred the
Lion's Mane
in the same direction as other airships.

Jack noticed almost all of the ships were passenger or transport vessels with their company emblems emblazoned on the side. Only a few of them bore individual markings like the
Lion's Mane
.

‘That's the
Highbridge
,' the detective pointed out. ‘Belongs to the Queen's nephew. And there's the
Musgrave
. Belongs to that industrialist fellow, Beets.'

The sun broke through the cloud cover, dousing their vessel in patches of warm light. Jack leaned against the window, took a breath and exhaled. For a moment—just a moment—the pain of his parents' deaths seemed to evaporate. Sometimes he felt their absence so keenly he wanted to burst into tears, but mostly their loss was like a lead weight strapped to his chest. The sensation was always there, a stifling heaviness that never left. Now, as he looked from the window, the burden seemed to dissipate.

Maybe this can be a new life
, he thought.

Mr Doyle adjusted their trajectory and they started their descent to Camden, drifting through the smoke and fog until a sea of roofs lay beneath them.

‘Can you see your home yet, Scarlet?' Jack asked.

‘Why yes, yes I can!' she said. ‘I believe we can land in the street outside.'

‘I'll bring us down,' Mr Doyle said.

They descended towards the footpath. A few curious bystanders watched them drift down. They landed with barely a bump and Mr Doyle climbed out to secure the vessel to a lamppost.

Miss Scarlet Bell's residence was an apartment at the top of a three-storey building in a quiet backstreet of Camden. Jack and Mr Doyle followed her up the stairs. By the time they reached the final landing, Jack noticed Mr Doyle favouring his poor leg.

Scarlet opened the door and looked in. ‘Father, are you home? Oh!'

Her exclamation brought Jack and Mr Doyle after her. They found themselves in a long narrow hall. A small side table lay overturned and the contents of its drawer flung onto the floor. The apartment had been ransacked. Every drawer had been emptied. The insides of cabinets were flung everywhere. Cutlery and crockery had been unceremoniously scattered all over the kitchen.

‘I assume this is not your usual standard of housekeeping,'
47
Mr Doyle said.

‘Absolutely not.' Scarlet was flushed with anger.

‘I'll make tea,' Jack offered.

‘Good man,' Mr Doyle said.

By the time Jack had poured tea into cups, Mr Doyle had searched most of the apartment.

‘It seems you may be correct in fearing for your father,' he said, patting the poor girl's shoulder. ‘Whilst there is nothing to indicate he has been harmed, someone was certainly searching for something.'

‘I wonder if they found it,' Jack said, sipping his tea.

‘It is impossible to say. They may have been unsuccessful. Scarlet, does your father own a safe?'

She sat up. ‘Yes, how foolish of me. I should have checked it.'

They hurried to her father's bedroom. A safe lay open in a wall behind a curtain. Only a few pages remained inside it. Other papers had been thrown over the floor, some of which lay under bedding that had been strewn about during the search.

‘It seems they did not find what they were seeking,' Mr Doyle said.

‘Are you sure?' Jack asked.

‘This bedding has been thrown over a few of the papers taken from the safe, so the search of the apartment continued after the safe was opened.' The detective was lost in thought. ‘This leads me to two conclusions. One, that the perpetrators will continue to search for that which they seek. And two…' He turned to Scarlet. ‘I'm afraid you may be in some danger, my dear.'

A distant rumble of thunder sounded overhead, as if to emphasise the great detective's words.

‘Danger?' Scarlet said, surprised.

‘Absolutely,' Mr Doyle responded. ‘I believe the criminals have tried to extract information from your father without success. Then they have conducted a search of your lodgings. The next logical step is to see if you can furnish them with what they need.'

‘But I know nothing!'

‘We know that. They do not.' Mr Doyle stared into space before turning again to Scarlet. ‘I must ask you to remain in the parlour for a few minutes while we conduct our own search.'

‘Of course,' she said.

‘It means we will have to search your own private effects.' Mr Doyle blushed. ‘Even your clothing.'

‘I have nothing to hide,' she said. ‘I am a modern woman.'

Jack and Mr Doyle spent the next hour peering under furniture and inspecting every last item in the apartment. Jack pointed out how difficult it was to find the object of their quest when they were unsure what it was.

‘We will know it when we see it,' Mr Doyle said.

After some time Mr Doyle started tapping the walls of each room. He called Jack into Joseph Bell's study.

‘My boy,' he said. ‘Would you be so kind as to pace out the length of this chamber?'

‘Yes, sir.'

Jack started at the far end where a bookcase ran along an entire wall.

‘Seven paces,' he said.

‘Now come to the next room,' Mr Doyle instructed.

They walked down the hall to the adjacent room, which was Scarlet's bedroom. Jack measured the room and found it to be ten paces in length. Mr Doyle took him back to the hallway and asked him to walk the distance of the two rooms.

‘Twenty,' Jack said.

‘I thought so,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Either the builders did not know their maths or something is not right.'

They returned to the study. Every book had been ripped off the shelves. Mr Doyle picked one up and glanced at the cover.

‘
The Sign of Four
. A fine novel. You should read it sometime.'

They cleared the floor. Mr Doyle stood in front of the bookcase, pulled out his goggles and examined the shelves.

‘This seems solid enough. And this.' He climbed a chair to appraise the top edge. ‘Now here's something.'

A click sounded from the bookcase and it moved towards them an inch.

‘A secret room!' Jack said.

Mr Doyle pocketed the goggles. ‘Not anymore.' He climbed down from the chair. ‘I suspected as much.'

He pulled on the edge of the bookcase and it swung open like an enormous door. Scarlet chose that moment to enter the chamber.

‘What have you… Oh!'

‘Oh, indeed,' Mr Doyle said.

The room measured three feet deep by six feet across. It contained shelving and a single unlit lamp. Mr Doyle turned it on. The space was empty except for an item sitting on the middle shelf. A small painting.

While Jack was no judge of art, he could tell good from bad. The painting showed a small group of men on horseback in the midst of battle. The scene was so vivid Jack felt he could step right into the heart of the action.

‘That's amazing,' he breathed.

‘Amazing is an understatement,' Mr Doyle said. ‘It's an oil sketch of a painting called
The Battle of Anghiari
by Leonardo da Vinci. The original has been lost for centuries.'

‘Are you sure?' Scarlet asked.

‘I'm as certain as I can be,' Mr Doyle replied. ‘The brush stroke is Leonardo's. The only known versions are a few sketches and what was to be the final finished work—a fresco in the Hall of Five Hundred in Florence, Italy. That work has since been lost. This must be a previously unknown version painted by the master. Possibly he painted it in preparation for the final picture.' He donned the goggles again and examined the surface. ‘This is unexpected. There is a bird in the sky above the battle.'

‘What type of bird?' Jack asked.

‘It is surrounded by flames. A firebird. I believe it is a phoenix.'

‘Isn't that a mythological bird?' Scarlet asked.

‘It is. It bursts into flames at the moment of death only to be reborn in a blaze of glory. It has come to symbolise renewal.' Mr Doyle removed the goggles. ‘I don't know why it's in this painting.'

A clap of thunder rumbled as Jack stared at the masterpiece. He heard the soft static of rain as the storm began in earnest.

‘But how did the painting get here?' Scarlet asked, her face turning almost as red as her name. ‘How did it come into my father's possession?'

‘Well, that's the mystery, isn't it?' The detective tilted his head. ‘It reminds me of a case I once had involving a sketch by Rembrandt, a South American shrunken head and a baby elephant.'

Jack interrupted. ‘Is it valuable?'

‘Valuable?' Mr Doyle mused. ‘Hmm. Jack, you understand the value of a pound? You know what you can buy with it?'

Jack had never had so much money. ‘Yes. A lot.'

‘Well, you would need more than a million of them to purchase this masterpiece,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Possibly a great deal more.'

Jack's mouth fell open. ‘For a painting?'

‘Leonardo's works are exceedingly rare. Only a handful of them are known to exist.'

They stood in silence looking at the amazing piece. The half-light of the chamber seemed to give more authenticity to the battle scene. Jack had not seen many paintings in his life, and most of them were of men and women standing around in rooms looking like they wanted either to drink tea or break into a ballroom waltz.

This painting was different. The firebird was a bright, flaming creature arcing across the sky. It seemed almost alive.

Mr da Vinci knew a thing or two about painting.

‘Wait a moment,' Mr Doyle said. ‘There is something else.'

‘Another picture?' Scarlet asked.

‘No,' he said. ‘Something that may provide us with a lead.'