Agatha & the Scarlet Scarab

by Karl Fish

  ‘Under this ancient cloth lies a creature that still resides, even now, in our rivers and waterways. Many people will say that these creatures are just myth and stuff of legend. But I can reveal to you now that I caught this one just days ago in the estuarial canal off of The Downside near the stone bridge over the Amble. Behold, the Mer- Monster! Raaargghhh!’ he finished, whipping the room into sheer terror and revealing the mysterious beast from beneath the cloth.

  Its mummified face and gnarly teeth stared viciously at the youngsters. Its ribcage seamlessly weaving into a fishtail to confirm the perverseness of the species.

  Screams of terrified children rang out. Several fled the shop in a panic, but for those who were brave enough to stay, though some were crying, he sat them all back down and explained what it was. With its scaly tail like a fish and its human-like front body, this was considered to be a Mer-monster.

  ‘If you believe in monsters, children, then I suggest you stay away from the Amble and its numerous canals. You never quite know what is down there. If you think this is a hoax and the imagination of a very clever taxidermist, then you should sleep well tonight. But if you do not and you still believe in magical beasts, do not worry as Mer-monsters never leave the water, so you should be safe in your beds. And who’s to say they’re not delightful little creatures behind that brutal facade!’

  There were a few more smiles following that part of the story and as always Gideon rounded off his mini-performance by revealing a jar of American candy. Such a rare treat in these times. More than likely the majority of the children endured his tales just for their weekly sugar fix afterwards, but for some, it certainly peeked their imaginations.

  ‘Just one each…’ He laughed as hungry young eyes pounced upon him. The last of the children took their sweets and left his shop as he replaced the Mer-monster under its filthy cover and once more out of sight. He reached onto a shelf much higher up and brought down a dusty box that he blew over creating a puff of particles.

  ‘It’s apt you chose to hide behind the Old Sphinx.’ He smiled, turning to Aggie, hiding at the rear of the shop.

  ‘It’s not very convincing. Is it?’ replied the girl as she strode forward and patted the poor papier-mâché copy she had crouched behind.

  Gideon roared with laughter. ‘No, I suppose not. But you wouldn’t believe what people will fall for with a damn good story.’ He smiled back and sighed. ‘The Mer-monster, for example, is half a pike and half a macaque, a small mischievous monkey,’ he explained. Her uncle composed himself, still perching on his stool, encouraging his niece to come and sit next to him. ‘This is for you,’ he said as he passed the dusty box Aggie’s way.

  It wasn’t clear who was more tentative. Gideon looked anxious while Aggie felt a sense of nervous excitement. Brushing the remnants of dust away, revealed dark blue velvet beneath. She slowly opened it. On the inside casing, a mother of pearl silk shone crisply clean, with the exception of a tiny dark scrawl. The silk overlapped like an envelope of fabric, where Aggie slowly pinched both upper and lower parts together between index and forefingers and pulled them in opposite directions. Beneath the fabric lay a perfect circle of silver. The silver was joined by a golden ball and clasped into an ebony handle. The handle itself had several sections and each spun independently of one another. In the centre of the circular silver ring was thick glass, tempered lightly towards the metal edges where it had been polished into multiple facets, reminiscent of the eye of a fly, and where it captured and reflected kaleidoscope images.

  ‘You can take it out if you like,’ Gideon offered quietly.

  Aggie paused for a moment, placing the case delicately on her lap and removing the object from inside. Holding it up in front of herself, the glass brought items in and out of perspective. If she held it directly in front of an object, she could look at it in far more detail then with her normal sight.

  ‘It’s a magnifying glass,’ she said, slightly mystified.

  ‘Of sorts. A necklace magnifier I believe. You can wear it around your neck.’ Gideon nodded and smiled back at her. ‘Perhaps you should read the inscription?’ he said.

  Aggie opened the box once more and focused the magnifier on the writing within the case. The minuscule scrawl of calligraphy was faultless and she could now read the message clearly, which she read firstly to herself and then out loud to her uncle.

  Dearest Daughter,

  You are such a revelation. I will love you forever.

  Mum x

  Aggie’s head slumped downwards. Her skin covered with Goosebumps once more as a chill shuddered through her. Gideon was already shedding tears as he leant forward and embraced her. Both of them were now sobbing. She for the loss of her mother, who she had never known, and he for the loss of his twin which he had shared more than half his life with.

  ‘Do you like it, Aggie?’ Gideon inquired as he smoothed the tears away from his cheeks.

  ‘Of course, I like it,’ Aggie responded, sniffing hers away too. ‘But why a magnifying glass?’ she questioned.

  Holding it up to the spectrums of light cascading through the window, she examined the handle in more detail. Seven separate ebony dials, of seven different shapes and sizes, spun independently of one another. On each face of a dial, there was a separate symbol.

  ‘What do all these mean, Uncle Gideon?’ she asked inquisitively.

  ‘I’m not really sure and to be perfectly honest, I’ve barely looked at it since the day she gave it to me,’ Uncle Gideon responded, intrigued.

  Aggie looked up at her uncle’s pallid complexion. He looked interested but most uneasy as he studied the magnifying glass. Perhaps it was the thought of his long-dead sister and his emotions catching up with him.

  ‘Ouch!’ screamed Aggie.

  While distracted by the dials and their detail she had failed to see that the small streak of sunlight streaming through her magnifying glass had focused itself to burn through her dark woollen jumper.

  Gideon leapt forward with lightning reflexes and patted the minor scorched hole to ensure any embers were put out.

  ‘Are you Ok?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Aggie replied. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked back.

  ‘Of course, I am.’ He smiled.

  ‘Bang! Bang!’ came a short-fisted thump on his shop door, breaking a momentary silence. Before Gideon could move towards the blind to see who it was, the door burst open sending the customer bell ringing erratically. As the door flung open, a grubby, pint-sized boy, much smaller than his mature face suggested, extended his arm inwards holding what appeared to be a very small penknife.

  ‘Gideon! Giddy, are you OK?’ he shouted aggressively.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Eric. What on earth are you doing? Put that thing away,’ Gideon bawled.

  Realising everything was fine, the boy withdrew his knife before removing an oversized flat-cap he was wearing and humbly offering an apologetic bow. Gideon pulled him into the shop by his collar and quickly shut the door behind him.

  ‘Sorry, Gideon. I ’erd a scream and I fought you were bein’ set upon,’ came the boy’s apology.

  Gideon sighed and shook his head. ‘OK. To work then, Eric,’ he ordered.

  Eric Peabody scurried away down the stairs to the cellar workshop.

  Aggie watched him through the gap in the treads. He briefly looked back, caught her crystal blue gaze and then turned away smirking.

  ‘I think it’s time we ate,’ Gideon suggested.

  Aggie placed the magnifying glass back into the silk fabric and snapped the velvet case shut. Grasping it as if it was the only possession in the world she’d ever need, she followed her uncle out of the shop.

  ‘Aren’t you going to lock up?’ Aggie asked as her uncle strode onwards.

  ‘No need for that. This is Ambledown. Besides, I have a Peabody on guard.’ Gideon smiled and nodded towards the cellar.

  Aggie cast a perplexed frown. As if that boy was any deterrent at all.

 
Chapter 11

  Silvera

  The Professor, Meticulous Meredith Malcolm, awoke to dappled light shining through the rear car windows, casting speckled variations of the autumn woodland as it sped through the countryside. A small bloodstain remained on his immaculate linen suit. He tried in vain to remove it using his own saliva but it had dried. He had been unconscious long enough for that.

  Composing himself, he sat upright, straightening his suit, adjusting his spectacles, and grooming his impressive moustache. After half an hour’s silent observation of the flora and fauna passing by, he tapped the thick glass barrier that separated himself from the chauffeur who had so un-eloquently bundled him into the car in the first place.

  ‘Are we on our way to the seaside?’ Meredith Malcolm enquired.

  It was a peculiar question to have asked his captor. Then again, Professor Malcolm was well-known for his eccentricities.

  ‘It’s just that…’ He paused briefly. ‘I notice the chalky soil. I am sure we passed blooming ragwort, which Culpepper himself may have used and what with the indigenous pine and oak, I strongly suspect we are heading south? High Weald, maybe? Sussex? Am I right?’

  The chauffeur glared in the rear-view mirror at the Professor. He reached for a large red switch on his dashboard, and with a simple click, black glass rose from within the padded seats and created an impenetrable barrier between them.

  Seconds later, the same thick glass shrouded the rear windows until Meticulous could no longer see anything and was surrounded in a subtle darkness.

  Flicking a second switch, this one coloured blue, a small vent opened between the reading lights above Professor Malcolm’s head and an ethereal violet gas cascaded downwards. The Professor reached for his handkerchief but the impact was immediate. The gas infiltrated his lungs first, swiftly followed by his bloodstream, until he slumped back into a silent slumber.

  The car drove hastily onward. The chauffeur donned sunglasses as the car peaked over a hill and in the distance, the Sussex Downs met the coastline and the Channel rose into view. The crisp October day brought brilliant blue skies and piercing sunlight: a far cry from the bombed-out greyness of the city.

  In the distance, the chalk cliffs reflected their brilliant white glare and there, just back from the cliff’s edge and barely visible at this range, another vividly white reflection could be seen. What was it, a lighthouse?

  As the immaculate black saloon reached the driveway of the large white building, it slowed down, allowing the sentry to raise the red-and-white-striped barrier towards the entrance. The silver bird shining upon the radiator reflected the brilliant autumn glare.

  This wasn’t the welcoming facade to the front of the building, which offered less security. This was the hidden, highly guarded, rear entrance. Standing an impressive four storeys high and an epic testament to modernist concrete and glass, the Silvera Institute had only just been completed twelve months before war had broken out.

  The original patron and philanthropist, a wealthy local industrialist, had conceived the building to host concerts and exhibitions that would allow the world to still see how ‘great’ Britain was. Its curved main hall looked out over the cliff-tops and across the Channel. Where once corridors, painted to echo the surrounding chalk cliffs, had seen Turners and Constables hang, they now saw hospital beds in the convalescent wards. No more recitals or piano concertos. No more curators. In their places were wheelchairs, the stench of iodine, and the ever-feared matrons.

  The chauffeur drove cautiously over the white gravel surface as it crunched underneath the wheels. In front of him, two large orderlies stood either side of a high-backed, padded, wheelchair. When the car finally stopped, the two orderlies opened the rear passenger door and unceremoniously dragged the Professor out. Hitching him up into the chair, they buckled several restraints across his body and a mask that covered the bottom half of his face and silenced his mouth.

  Meticulous Meredith Malcolm was awoken as two huge orderlies manhandled him from the car. Looking up, and just managing to focus, he read a simple sign on the wall before him:

  Dr Mialora

  The Silvera Institute.

  Meredith Malcolm was still struggling to focus his sight, shackled and bound to a wheelchair, as the orderlies steered him through poorly lit sandstone corridors.

  ‘Welcome, Professor,’ came the voice through blurred colours and hues.

  The accent was not obvious; possibly Spanish, maybe Portuguese. Professor Malcolm could not be sure.

  ‘You will be feeling quite queasy, but that will subside in due course. I am Silvera. Dr Mialora Silvera. I will visit you again tomorrow, but now I leave. Mr Louds here will help you with anything you need.’

  Professor Malcolm’s sight was still blurred as the first figure disappeared but was soon replaced by a second.

  ‘I am Brian, Brian Louds. Pleased to meet you, Professor,’ came the polite voice.

  Professor Malcolm felt a strong grip take his own limp wrist and shake it vigorously as he unlocked the restraints.

  ‘You’ll want for nothing here, just as long as you play by the rules, sir. Anything you need, you just let me know. These are your chambers and your working quarters. I trust you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.’

  Professor Malcolm had heard every word but was not fully conscious. His eyesight slowly began to return but by the time he could focus at will, he was now alone, sat in a wheelchair in his new surroundings.

  Taking a cautious observation of what was around him, he first noticed a glass prism situated twenty-five feet above the centre of the room and directly above him. Directly beneath, in order seemingly to make best use of the direct sunlight from above, and where he sat, a large, circular, mahogany desk surrounded him. It was unlike any other desk he had seen or worked from. It was as if the inner rings had been bored away from a mighty tree where the Professor could rotate and work from in 360 degrees, albeit for a sliced section to enter and leave. Perfectly ordered in ascending shape and size every phial, scope lens, specimen jar and magnifier he could have ever wished for surrounded the outer edge of the huge wooden work surface.

  As Professor Malcolm’s observations tentatively moved him on from the desk, he noticed that the walls sloped inwards towards the glass pinnacle, and each side served a particular purpose. The wall coverings were gilded in bronze leaf and helped the light bounce across the surfaces where it could.

  On one wall surface, there was a perfectly crafted library where on approaching it, Professor Malcolm recognised prestigious works on flora, fauna, entomology, and natural science. On a second surface, there were rows upon rows of specimen boxes. Constructed in immaculate mahogany, all exhibits were expertly pinned and spaced, with their names neatly scribed in Latin and with the species running alphabetically from A-Z.

  Continuing his cautious tour, the third wall contained numerous live environments for all manner of tiny bugs and creatures. Varying in size and conditions for the mini-monsters that occupied them, they ranged from full biospheres for cross-species habitation, to isolated glasshouses for apex predators of the insect world, which were cut off from but staring directly at their incarcerated prey.

  The Professor could only take so much in at once. A sceptical excitement came over him. He immediately noticed the primary glass terrarium that dominated the living wall. It had a stripped-down skull of a cow in it and eager scarab beetles aimlessly pushing their balls of waste against the glass and making tiny tapping sounds at their futile attempts to push them uphill.

  The fourth wall was the least exciting of them all. A simple panel door sat in the centre and two large mirrors hung on either side.

  Professor Meticulous Meredith Malcolm, having surveyed the impeccable surroundings he had been left in, was both equally impressed and sceptical. The sanctuary of peace and quiet this place afforded him, combined with the sheer quality of equipment and specimens, led him to a single conclusion; whatever it was he was to be asked to do, it
wasn’t within the confines of legality. It most likely was treasonous and once he had completed his task his fate was surely sealed. The body in the Museum laboratory was evidence enough of Ms Erket’s callousness.

  A double knock on the door and Mr Louds, Dr Mialora’s assistant, entered the laboratory. The surgical operating mask obscured his lower face. It was startling that he did not have a single hair on his head. He wasn’t just bald, he had neither eyebrows or lashes. An ink line scribed on each brow was a crude attempt to conceal this fact but close up it was obvious.

  ‘I trust everything is to your satisfaction, Professor?’ Louds asked politely.

  ‘Very much so,’ Professor Malcolm responded eagerly.

  ‘Is there anything else you should require, sir? Perhaps some refreshment?’ Mr Louds continued.

  ‘Tea, please. Honey, not sugar if you have it?’ Professor Malcolm asked gleefully.

  ‘Anything else, Professor?’ Mr Louds concluded.

  ‘I would like to know what you actually require from me?’ Malcolm responded, smiling wilfully.

  Mr Louds nodded and then exited the laboratory without a final response. Meticulous made his way to the long line of live exhibits, examining each case carefully. The largest enclosure was dedicated to a host of scarabs that were eagerly decimating the remaining cow’s skull and aimlessly rolling their defecated balls of dung against the panes of glass. The professor removed his spectacles and pressed his nose against the glass. His breath misted the pane and with his index finger, he drew the ‘All-Seeing-Eye’ that Sabine Erket had followed to escape the Museum.

  ‘Why are you so important?’ the Professor whispered to the insects beyond the glass. He replaced his spectacles, rubbed away his misted doodle and began pacing the room, examining the library of books, and all the while grooming his impeccable moustache. ‘What was it about Ms Erket and what was the importance of the Scarlet Scarab?’ he pondered. Where did they sit in her plan?

  Chapter 12