The Mask of Destiny (15 page)

‘You want to get off now?' Gerald asked.

‘Oh, of course,' Ruby said, rolling away. ‘Sorry.'

Gerald raised himself to his elbows. ‘I'm not sure I can take any more adventure today,' he said. ‘It hurts too much.'

He crawled over to a table in the centre of the cellar and hauled himself onto a stool. He peeled the backpack from his shoulders and dumped it by his feet.

‘That monk on the stairs,' Ruby said. ‘Do you think he opened the door to help us?'

‘He couldn't have been more obvious,' Gerald said. ‘He invited us in.'

Sam dropped into a spare stool at the table next to Gerald. ‘Unless he turns up in the next two minutes with a hot meal, who cares? I need food.'

‘Can't you think of anything but your stomach?' Ruby said. Then she bit her bottom lip. ‘Actually, now that you mention it, I am pretty hungry.'

Sam suddenly sat upright. ‘The parcel from Mrs Rutherford! All those pies and sausage rolls.' He grabbed his pack and shoved his hand deep inside. Sam's expression morphed from delighted anticipation to complete disgust. He pulled out a collapsed mound of paper, pastry and meat, and slopped it on the table. ‘I guess I shouldn't have taken it swimming,' he said, looking utterly miserable. Then he sneezed. ‘I guess I shouldn't have taken me swimming either. Don't suppose you've got chocolate in your pack, Gerald?'

Gerald upended his backpack onto the table. The head torch tumbled out, as did the flint on its leather cord and a water bottle. There was a small first-aid kit, a pen, a pocketknife and…

‘A pack of gum!' Sam said. He had two sticks in his mouth before anyone could move. After chewing hungrily for a few seconds he noticed the stares from Gerald and Ruby.

‘Oh,' he mumbled. ‘Um, anyone else want some?'

Ruby snatched the pack from her brother's hand. ‘Just appalling,' she said.

She held out a piece for Gerald. ‘Would you like some of your gum, Gerald?'

But Gerald didn't notice the offer. He was staring at the book that had fallen from his pack. It was bound in red leather with the imprint of his family seal clear on the cover.

‘I'd forgotten about this,' he said as he flicked through the gold-edged pages.

‘It's all in French,' he said. ‘There's a surprise.'

Ruby looked over Gerald's shoulder as he thumbed through the pages. ‘I can't understand a word of this,' she said. ‘It must be hundreds of years old.'

Gerald rested his forehead in his hands. He felt as if his brain had changed into a kilogram of fairy floss.

Ruby closed the book and drummed her fingers on the cover. ‘So what do we know? Lucius died flat on his back and his dying thought was to point to a bunch of symbols he'd scratched into the rock—the same symbols that Geraldine wrote for Gerald.'

‘And Charlotte wanted to know about some place called the Tower of the Winds,' Gerald said. ‘She was happy enough to gamble my life on finding out about it.'

‘And what about this book?' Sam said. ‘Books weren't even invented when Lucius was wandering around here. It would have been all scrolls and quills back then. How do you explain Gerald's family seal being on the cover of a book? And the book being locked away with a thousand-year-old casket?'

‘It's got to be the monks,' Gerald said. He looked at Ruby. ‘That travel guide you were reading at breakfast. Did it say anything about the monks?'

‘Yes, there's been a religious order here for over a thousand years,' Ruby said. ‘But that still doesn't explain—'

Gerald held up his hand. ‘How's this for an idea? Lucius arrives here from Rome with the ruby casket. Back then the place is basically a bare chunk of rock in the middle of the bay. Maybe he's sick. Or injured. Who knows? Maybe Mason Green's assassin ancestor—what was his name?'

‘Octavius Viridian,' Ruby said.

‘Right, Octavius Viridian is on his tail. For whatever reason, Lucius can't go on. So he crawls into a cave to hide the chest. The order of monks who have set up shop here find him and hear his story: he's on the run from the Roman emperor with a treasure that needs to be protected. You can imagine the Romans weren't too popular around here. So the monks decide to help him.'

Ruby cocked her head. ‘So, like the cult in India, they dedicate themselves to keeping the casket hidden. And then, centuries later, when they build the town and the abbey, they move the casket out of the grotto and hide it behind all those,' Ruby shuddered at the memory, ‘bones.'

‘Bones arranged in the shape of my family seal,' Gerald said. ‘And they stick this book in with the casket.' He took the volume back from Ruby and ran his fingers over the cover. ‘It must be important. If we find out what this book's about, I'd say we're one step closer to the secret and one step closer to catching Charlotte.'

‘So who do we ask about the book?' Sam said.

‘Those monks who opened the door for us,' Gerald said. He pushed back on the chair and crossed to the narrow window by the door. The pathway was cast in late afternoon shadow. Only a few pairs of feet climbed the stairs past them.

‘They're all old people's walking shoes,' he said. ‘No police boots. But let's give it a few more minutes.'

Gerald gathered up the camping gear and the book and arranged everything in his pack, then he draped the flint on its leather cord around his neck.

Ruby broke the last stick of gum into three and handed around the pieces. ‘Dinner,' she said.

They chewed in silence, apart from the occasional sneeze from Sam. Once the last of the flavour had been extracted from his gum, Gerald checked his watch. ‘Right,' he said. ‘Let's go find us some monks.'

He climbed the stairs and opened the door a few centimetres. ‘No use going back down to the entry,' he said. ‘There's bound to be police there.'

‘So we head up to the abbey?' Ruby said.

‘When hunting for monks,' Gerald said, ‘go where the monks go.'

The door creaked open and they squeezed through the gap onto the path outside. The stairs were deserted. The sky had turned a mottled blue as the afternoon melded into the late summer twilight.

Gerald was aware of the clomp of their shoes on the worn stone stairs as they climbed towards the lower sections of the abbey. They came to an arched doorway at the top and poked their heads through.

A sparsely furnished reception room. There was no sign of anyone.

No tourists.

No police.

No monks.

A door stood ajar in the far wall and they crossed the room to the opening. Beyond it was a broad terrace that looked out over the bay. Set back to one side were the imposing walls of the abbey. The gothic spire that crowned the roof soared high over them.

There was no one about. Even the seagulls that had swooped and cawed while Gerald, Sam and Ruby had slogged across the sand flats were nowhere to be seen.

The wind had dropped. The sun was just a memory. The brow of a full moon was rising out of the bay.

It was as if they were the last people on earth.

‘Where is everyone?' Ruby said. Gerald sensed the concern in her voice. ‘It's so quiet.'

‘Let's look inside,' Gerald said.

They crossed the terrace and climbed the steps to the church doors. Gerald pushed on one and they peered inside. Together, they let out a whispered chorus of ‘Wow!'

They stepped into the nave of the church and stood in gape-mouthed wonder. The stone walls on either side were lined by slender arches and soared twenty metres in the air to a huge vaulted ceiling. Moonlight filtered through the high windows, catching remnants of incense and bathing the interior in an eerie half glow.

‘I feel very small in here,' Ruby said. Her voice bounced off the stone floor.

‘Shh!' Sam hissed. Then he sneezed.

Ruby narrowed her eyes to a death stare, but for once she kept her mouth shut.

They crept along the centre aisle past rows of pews towards the chancel at the far end of the church. Gerald and Ruby were halfway along when the peace of the church was shattered by a splintering crash. Then another. And another.

Rows of pews were smashing over like a line of dominos, each one knocking into the one in front. In the cavernous church, the sound was like a battery of field guns. Next to the first of the fallen pews stood Sam, a ‘whoops' look on his face.

The last pew crashed onto the flagstones. The clatter curled up and out the arched windows high above like a cloud of bats scouring into the night.

Sam stood rooted to the spot, frozen in place by the silence that had descended over them.

Ruby glared at him. ‘You idiot,' she said.

The silence was short-lived. From outside the church came the sound of running boots.

Police boots.

‘This way,' Gerald called, bolting towards the semi-circular chancel. Fluted pillars loomed high out of the surrounding shadows like forest trees around a clearing. Incense wafted from two brass burners suspended nearby.

‘Come on,' Gerald said, and the three of them dived into an alcove on one side of the altar. They disappeared into the darkness, but they were boxed in. The only way out was back into the church.

And there was no question of going that way. A second after Sam slid next to Gerald, three men burst in from the northern transept.

Gerald flattened himself against the back wall of the alcove. His throat tightened. In the eerie moonlight, just metres away from them, stood Constable Lethbridge, a French policeman and…his mother's life coach.

Walter had joined the manhunt.

Chapter 11

G
erald was sure the thump of his heart rattling the bars of his ribcage would give them away. The pounding reverberated in his ears, growing more urgent with each beat. He didn't dare move his head to see what Sam and Ruby were doing on either side of him. All he could do was stare out from their hiding place into the body of the church.

Walter was different.

Gerald had only ever seen him with Vi. On those occasions, he was as smooth as a fox rolled in velvet. It was all opening doors and gracious manners, witty asides and casual laughter. Walter could not be more considerate. Did Vi need somewhere to sit? Could he fetch her a cup of tea? Or champagne, perhaps? He'd treated Gerald's mother like royalty. Nothing had been too much trouble for Walter.

But not now. Not with Gerald on the run.

The look on Walter's face was that of a man who had not slept in the past two days. Until that moment, Gerald had given little thought to the man. He had been just another of his mother's fripperies, picked up after Gerald inherited his great aunt's fortune. First the Botox, then the spray-on tan, now the life coach. But Walter's expression revealed he had much more on his mind than helping Vi draft a blueprint for her life. His face betrayed a focus that bordered on desperation.

‘They must be in here,' Walter said. His eyes scanned the shadows, grazing right past Gerald's hiding place.

‘These pews have been pushed over.' The French policeman's voice sounded out from the nave. ‘They must have come through this way.'

Lethbridge stood beside Walter. He was looking directly at the alcove where Gerald, Ruby and Sam were cowering.

‘Maybe a dog knocked them,' the constable said.

‘Don't be ridiculous,' Walter said. ‘It was them. They're here somewhere.' He took a step closer to the alcove. ‘I can feel it.'

Lethbridge suddenly jabbed his finger towards the doors at the far end of the nave. ‘Over there!' he cried. ‘I think I saw someone run outside.'

Walter's head turned towards the doors. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Oh yes,' Lethbridge said. ‘Very sure.'

Walter took off towards the entry, collecting the French policeman on the way. In seconds, they were out the door and into the night.

Lethbridge watched them leave. He then wandered towards the alcove and knelt to tie his laces.

‘You three have created a ruckus and that's for sure,' he said. Lethbridge lifted his head and looked straight at Gerald.

Gerald's breath caught in his throat. ‘You can see us?' he said.

‘Good eyes,' Lethbridge said. ‘From spotting pigeons on cloudy days. Those little grey and white beauties blend in when the weather rolls in. One time we were near Gloucester when—no, I tell a lie, it was Tewkesbury. Just off the M50 it was. Anyway, the weather turned nasty and, would you believe it, I had to—'

‘Constable,' Ruby interrupted. ‘We don't have the time.'

‘Oh, yes,' Lethbridge said. ‘Pardon I. Look, what do you lot think you're playing at? Inspector Jarvis is furious.'

‘I didn't kill him,' Gerald whispered from the shadows.

‘There's plenty who think you did,' Lethbridge said, still fiddling with his boots. ‘Your mother's friend out there is leading the charge.'