The Mask of Destiny (20 page)

Chapter 14

R
uby turned the lock and tested the compartment door. It held firm. She flopped back onto a lower bunk and propped her feet against the window. Outside, the suburbs of Paris were gliding by, bathed in the pale yellow light of the dying day.

On the opposite bunk, Gerald laid out a small feast. Baguettes, cheese, ham, olives, a box of chocolates. He twisted the top from a bottle of cola and took a long swig before passing it to Sam. Sam was rubbing his wrists, trying to get the blood flowing again after the tight cable ties. He took the bottle with a nod of thanks and drank deep.

‘That Inspector Jarvis has it in for you, Gerald,' Sam said, passing the bottle to Ruby. ‘He was furious that the French police let you get away. He's convinced that you killed Green. I don't think he's going to give up the chase any time soon.'

Gerald sliced open a baguette with his pocket knife and layered in some ham and cheese. ‘How about Lethbridge? Wasn't he putting in a good word?'

‘He tried,' Sam said. ‘But Jarvis wasn't listening. He's obsessed.'

‘Did Jarvis ask you anything?' Ruby said. She accepted a baguette from Gerald and took a bite.

‘Ask me anything? He didn't stop. Where are you going? Who are you meeting? Are you armed?'

‘Armed!' Gerald said, spraying breadcrumbs across the train carriage. ‘As if we'd be carrying guns.'

‘Like I said,' Sam bit into his roll, ‘he's obsessed.'

‘So what did you tell him?' Ruby asked.

Sam finished his mouthful and swallowed. ‘That Gerald was on a quest to return a magical monkey's fist to a curio shop in the grand bazaar of Cairo before the next full moon or all humanity was doomed.'

Gerald and Ruby looked at him in disbelief.

Sam took another bite. ‘I don't think he believed me though.'

Ruby's eyes rose to the carriage ceiling. ‘At least he doesn't know where we're actually going,' she said. And then, ‘You idiot,' for good measure.

Gerald smiled to himself. It was good to have everyone back together again. Sam polished off the last of his roll and broke off a chunk of cheese. ‘So what's the plan from here?'

‘Well, the train gets into Rome tomorrow around ten,' Ruby said. ‘I guess we head to the Vatican Museum and find the Tower of the Winds.'

Gerald cocked his head. ‘The Vatican Museum— doesn't Professor McElderry have a friend who works at the library there? He mentioned him when he was first researching my family seal.'

‘You're right,' Ruby said. ‘Maybe it's time to give the professor a phone call?'

‘Weren't you worried that the police might be listening in to his calls?' Gerald said.

‘Maybe it's time to start taking a few risks.'

Sam popped an olive into his mouth. ‘Yeah, we haven't done near enough of that so far.'

Gerald pulled his wallet from his pocket and went through the contents. ‘I've got enough to buy a phone card and not much else. Those train tickets have wiped us out.'

Sam eyed the black American Express card inside the wallet. ‘You couldn't use that?'

‘One risk at a time,' Gerald said. ‘We can't let Jarvis know where we are.' He folded the wallet shut and slid it back into his pocket. ‘I'm not sure what we're going to do for cash now.'

Ruby lay flat on her bunk and fluffed up a cushion for a pillow. ‘I can go busking in Rome,' she said.

Sam laughed. ‘I don't think freak shows bring in much money.' He ducked as Ruby's pillow hurtled across the compartment.

‘I meant I can sing,' Ruby said.

Sam clambered up to a top bunk. ‘I don't think freak musicals do much better.'

Gerald wrapped up the dinner leftovers and shoved them into his pack. They'd have to be breakfast as well. Then he kicked off his shoes and sank into his bunk. His legs ached from the bike ride, but a sense of calm washed through him. He took a pen from his pack and tried to recreate the illustration from the book on the back of a train menu. But he couldn't concentrate. He reached into his pack and retrieved the ruby. The gem seemed to vibrate in his hand. He wrapped his fingers around it and closed his eyes. Soon the roll of the train, the
click
ety-clack
of the wheels and, to a lesser extent, the sound of Ruby's singing lulled him to sleep.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Gerald dreamed about Sir Mason Green.

It wasn't like the dreams that had dogged him in India, where Green had somehow infiltrated his subconscious using one of the golden rods. Those events were painful, distressing—like someone had attached a vacuum hose to his forehead and tried to suck out his brain.

This dream was actually relaxing. Gerald and Mason Green were enjoying a quiet lunch together, in one of the private dining rooms at the Rattigan Club in London.

‘Some bread, Gerald?' Green held out a silver plate laden with rolls.

‘Thank you, Sir Mason,' Gerald said, selecting a sourdough roll. ‘Very kind of you.'

‘Not at all, old chap. Now, tell me, how is the hunt going?'

‘That's the strangest thing,' Gerald said. He placed a pat of butter on the side of his plate. ‘I'm really not that clear on what it is I'm looking for. We're always running and chasing and hurtling along. But we never get closer to anything. It's very frustrating.'

Green topped up his glass from the bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket. ‘The first rule of any hunt, Gerald, is know your quarry. That's where you're going wrong. From the start, I knew exactly what I was after. You have never had a clue. And yet, what you seek is very close by. You just need to look within yourself, Gerald. It's all there.'

A slender woman, her dark hair pulled back in an efficient bun, appeared at the table, and laid a bowl of soup in front of each of them. Gerald couldn't remember ever smelling anything quite so delicious.

‘Ah, this looks good,' Green said, laying his napkin on his lap. ‘You've met my niece, haven't you, Gerald? She's a dab hand in the kitchen.'

Gerald looked up to find Charlotte beaming down at him. She produced a pepper grinder from behind her back.

‘Cracked pepper?'

Her uncle declined.

‘And you, Gerald?' Charlotte said, holding the grinder above his steaming bowl. ‘Cracked poison for you?'

‘Poison?'

‘Slip of the tongue,' Charlotte said with the faintest of smiles. ‘Pepper, naturally.'

‘Uh, no thanks,' Gerald said. He wasn't sure he wanted to taste the soup after all.

‘Do dig in, Gerald,' Green said. He held a spoonful to his lips. ‘It's very good.'

Gerald could feel Green and Charlotte staring at him, waiting, while he dipped his spoon into his bowl.

The soup smelled so good. Gerald brought the spoon to his mouth and closed his lips around it. The liquid warmed his throat. Green and Charlotte watched with satisfaction. Then Gerald's throat started constricting, as if someone was clenching their hands around his neck. His head jolted back and forth and panic welled in his eyes. His airway was cut off—he couldn't breathe.

Just as he thought he was going to pass out, he sat up and banged his head, prompting a snort from Sam in the upper bunk.

Gerald rubbed his forehead and stared into the blank darkness of the train carriage. It was an hour before he could rid his thoughts of Sir Mason Green and finally fall asleep again.

Gerald, Ruby and Sam crammed into the phone booth inside the main entrance to Rome's Termini train station. The concourse was an ants' nest of activity, with travellers dashing to trains that were heading out across Italy and all over Europe.

Gerald held the phone to his ear and motioned for Sam and Ruby to stop arguing. ‘It's ringing,' he said. Then the call to London was answered. ‘Professor McElderry? Hello? It's Gerald.'

There was a pause at the other end of the line. Then the reply came back, ‘Oh, hello…Mother.'

Gerald cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘He just called me Mother.'

‘There must be somebody with him,' Ruby said. ‘The police, maybe?'

Gerald took his hand away and held out the phone so they could hear. ‘Is there somebody else there?' he asked the professor.

‘Oh, about half past ten,' McElderry's voice crackled through the tiny speaker.

Gerald shot a concerned look to Sam and Ruby. ‘Professor, we need to see your friend at the Vatican library—do you think you can you arrange it?'

‘Um, half a dozen eggs and a pickled herring will do nicely.'

Gerald screwed up his face. ‘Is that a yes?'

‘Just ask for Dr Serafini, Mother. He'll see you right.'

Gerald motioned for Ruby to write down the name. ‘Dr Serafini? Is he your friend at the library?'

The professor's reply was sharp and to the point. ‘Yes, that's right, Mother. Is your dementia acting up again?'

‘We found another ring, professor,' Gerald said. ‘And there's a third gold rod, but Green's niece stole it from us. She wanted to know about the Tower of the Winds. Do you know it?'

‘The Tower of—' McElderry checked himself. ‘I'll call the doctor myself and make an appointment for you. He sounds exactly the right person to help you with your…condition. Turn up this afternoon and I'm sure he'll see you straightaway.'

Ruby and Sam gave Gerald a thumb's up. Gerald took a long breath before speaking again. ‘Are we in big trouble?' he asked the professor.

McElderry's voice sounded through the phone speaker. ‘Put it this way, Mother, unless you find the cure to your condition very soon, I don't like your chances.'

The queue outside the main entrance to the Vatican Museum snaked and baked its way for hundreds of metres along the footpath, with no respite from the fierce summer sun. Gerald, Sam and Ruby were happy to bypass the thousands of tourists outside and take a side entrance into the air-conditioned comfort of the main building. They were ushered into an office overlooking a vast grassed courtyard. A young woman asked them to wait, and went to fetch Dr Serafini.

Gerald and Sam wandered over to the tall windows that looked down on the courtyard. Tourists gathered in whatever shade they could find.

‘Do you think this guy is going to let us see the tower?' Sam said.

Gerald shrugged. ‘This is a dead end if he doesn't.'

‘It's all pretty fancy,' Ruby said, as she studied the collection of baroque paintings that lined the high walls. ‘Oh my gosh, is this a Caravaggio?'

A deep voice rumbled across the room. ‘Not a particularly good one, I'm afraid Miss Valentine. But they have to hang them somewhere.'

Gerald looked up to see a bear of a man filling the doorway. He stood almost two metres tall. His cheekbones formed an overhang as treacherous as anything in Gerald's school climbing gym, and he wore a dark beard like a burglar might wear a balaclava. He could have stepped from any one of the paintings on the walls. He looked at Gerald and smiled.