Agatha & the Scarlet Scarab

by Karl Fish

  Removing his mask very slowly, Thompson encouraged Belle to follow, helping her as her broken arm hung in its makeshift sling. Whispering into her ear, he brought her up to speed.

  ‘This room is wired. He can eavesdrop. That we definitely know.’

  ‘What is all this?’ she mouthed back softly.

  Thompson shrugged as he perused the room. The complexity of the telephone exchanges was as new to him as it was to her. ‘He’s orchestrating communications somehow,’ Thompson suggested.

  Belle looked back confused. Static reconvened as an incoming message announced itself.

  ‘This is Taube. Over. Tuchhandler, are you there?’

  A momentary pause elapsed as Thompson and Belle digested the message.

  ‘I told you to leave,’ the man’s voice replied.

  Belle pointed to a small microphone where the voice had come from and which fed the larger relay.

  ‘He’s still here,’ Thompson mouthed to Belle. Ghosting past her with his gun drawn, he slid up to the side of the corridor. The unmistakable letter D, faded in gold leaf on the door, greeted Thompson as he stared at the suicidal passageway ahead. The blinds were drawn and only the faintest of shadows flitted from within the room. Gesturing to Belle to find a suitably long object, Thompson crouched down and removed his fedora. Belle returned with a wooden metre ruler that Thompson used to suspend his hat upon. Belle squatted towards the floor, grabbed the ruler with her good arm and held it up to mimic Thompson’s head height.

  ‘Are you sure, Belle?’ Thompson asked. ‘You’re in the line of fire.’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied.

  Thompson slid down onto his stomach. Gun loaded and aiming at the door.

  ‘On three,’ he mouthed. ‘One, two … ’

  BANG! BANG!

  Two quick shots smashed the frosted glass, the golden D shattering into a million pieces. The bullets fizzed through the corridor towards them both. The first penetrated the hat and sent it spinning on the ruler. The second splintered the stick itself.

  Thompson volleyed several rounds back through the hole in the glass.

  ‘Oww!’ Belle cried out.

  ‘Are you hit?’

  ‘No, it’s just my arm,’ she replied, clutching the arm in the sling. ‘Go, go,’ she ordered him.

  Thompson burst into a sprint.

  With the exception of the chrome balls shining from Newton’s cradle, discarded on the floor, the office was empty. The book-cases behind the desk, with their many hidden exits, had all doors left wide open. It was a fool’s errand to even try to follow him down the dark passageways. Even if you chose correctly. Thompson returned to Belle.

  ‘We need to make sense of this all,’ he said, scratching his hatless head. There was a renewed enthusiasm now they knew the enemy was close.

  Returning to the communication room, they took a step back to observe the mass of cables and telephony exchanges in front of them. The banks of desks surrounded a central desk. These were not the uniformed line of organisation that Draper had stringently set up when in charge. This was not the logical systematic approach Thompson expected of him. Lines, wires, and cables led in and out in a tangled bird’s nest of information exchange, culminating towards a central hub with a predominant desk in the middle of the room. A web of deceit and misdirection they had to try and fathom out.

  Belle approached it stepping carefully over wire after wire. ‘I am sure the message came through to this one,’ she said as she approached the central exchange. ‘Do you speak German, Thompson?’ she asked.

  ‘Not nearly well enough,’ he replied, now canvassing the communications room.

  ‘Tuchhandler – well, now I understand. It’s German for Draper. You were right. And Taube … well, that means Dove,’ she advised him.

  ‘Very good, but who the hell is Dove?’

  ‘Why don’t we find out?’ she said, pointing to the exchange where the message had been received.

  *****

  ‘I told you to leave,’ Tuchhandler had replied.

  Aggie and Eric jumped back from the microphone startled. They hadn’t expected a response.

  ‘What do I do now?’ Aggie turned to Eric.

  ‘Dunno, didn’t fink that far,’ was his unhelpful response.

  ‘He was adamant to get out of this place, at all costs. Something bad is coming, Eric.’

  ‘Somefink bad is already ’appening,’ he said, gesturing to the outside.

  They waited patiently, nervously.

  ‘What on earth do you think you are doing?’ Nelly Parker said, making them jump as she entered the office.

  ‘Who’s guarding the gov’ness?’ was Eric’s first response.

  ‘I am,’ came the welcome voice of Sister Harvey pushing Dove from behind with the point of a barrel.

  Dove shuffled forward, gagged and bound, looking the worse for wear. The antidote was working on her too.

  ‘It worked then.’ Eric smiled looking towards the poison.

  ‘It did, clever boy,’ Nelly acknowledged.

  Static began to flow back through to the radio device once more.

  ‘This is not Tuchhandler. Repeat this is not Tuchhandler,’ came the cut-glass accent down the line.

  Aggie and Eric turned to each other, confused. The three adults all equally confused in the room. A silence fell amongst them as no one was willing to speak.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, Taube, or should I say Dove?’ the man spoke confidently. ‘Your game is over. We have captured Tuchhandler. It’s over.’

  A disbelieving shrug of shoulders as his eyes lit up and jaw dropped painted a victorious picture across Eric’s face. Aggie was too late to stop her friend as he lurched and pressed the microphone into action, rolled his shoulders over, and stopped anyone from trying to snatch the microphone.

  ‘We’ve got her too. We caught ’er. We caught Dove. We want the reward. Just kids but we stopped ’er!’ Eric enthusiastically announced.

  ‘Well done, son. I am sure the reward will be yours. What’s your name, son?’ came the reply. ‘Can you give me your name? I am Thompson of The Department.’

  ‘Peabody, sir, Eric Peabody of Ambledown. And me mate here is, is A –’

  Aggie snatched the microphone from him.

  ‘Hold on,’ came a female voice back. ‘Ambledown, did you say?’

  Aggie was berating Eric. He shouldn’t have said their names or location. She took the microphone from him and refused him to use it.

  ‘You could have given us away,’ she told him.

  ‘But we already are. They’re coming. You ’erd the other fella? Right?’ Eric angrily replied.

  ‘Hello, are you still there?’ the lady spoke again over the speaker. ‘OK, I understand. It’s about trust and trust me we do not know who to trust. If that makes any sense. But if you just said Ambledown I wish to ask you one question. OK?’

  Aggie nor Eric could decide what to do next. Nelly and Sister Jane Harvey held back.

  ‘My name is Belle Soames. My father, who is poisoned and lies dying in hospital, was … wait … is good friends with a Professor from Ambledown. Would any of you know him? We desperately need his help. His name is Professor Gideon Belchambers.’

  *****

  ‘Quick, Archie! Quick! Find us a secret exit or we’re mincemeat!’ Pop shouted

  Luna continued lurching at the oncoming army. Despite drawing blood and tearing clothes, the men did not flinch as they proceeded towards their targets.

  ‘Kill, Kill, Kill.’

  ‘Here, Nathaniel, here!’ Archie stopped. Feeling a breeze from the stone surface in front of him.

  ‘It’s just a wall,’ Noone replied looking on at the stone complimented by two large torches.

  ‘I can feel something. I assure you,’ Archie confirmed.

  ‘Pop, start pushing,’ Noone ordered.

  The giant, Braggan, placed his hands between the torches as Noone and Luna desperately held off the advancing men.

&n
bsp; ‘It’s moving,’ Pop cried out through gritted teeth. ‘Archie, help me.’

  Goodfellow positioned himself under Pop’s frame and shoved with all his might.

  ‘Quickly … then!’ Pop called out as enough space was created for Nathaniel and Archie to squeeze through. ‘It’s closing … Nafaniel, ’urry up!’ Pop hollered.

  Noone and Goodfellow squeezed through.

  ‘Take care of me dog,’ Pop told them, shoving Luna by the collar through the closing gap.

  ‘Pop, no! Pop!’ Noone cried out unsuccessfully as the stone wall reset itself.

  Pop Braggan swung and didn’t stop swinging his bear-sized fists as he fought off the advancing army. As brave and strong as he was, the weight of so many men finally overpowered him. The first few men had fallen quickly, but as the advancing hoard became more and more, they sent him tumbling to the ground. Gold chains were breaking and crushed underfoot, they were suffocating the huge man.

  Chapter 56

  The exchanges

  ‘I am so glad you are here to witness this.’ Louds laughed loudly into Gideon’s face. ‘The “old gang” back together again. Stand up!’ he ordered.

  The bleeding tear of his calf muscle was excruciating but bloody and bruised as he was, Professor Gideon Belchambers was relatively unscathed. He hobbled under the encouragement of Louds’ gun towards the black ceremonial sarcophagus that was almost hidden in the darkness.

  At the head of the sacrificial stone, both altar and coffin, stood a man with arms outstretched as if preaching to a crowd. His hand was joined to the ceremonial knife of gold and bloodied rubies. The long robe shimmered and caught what little light was available and on top of his head the half-feathered mask of Horus.

  ‘Look closer, Professor. I believe you know each other,’ Louds urged him, squeezing Gideon’s cheekbones from below and forcing him to stare at Meticulous Meredith Malcolm’s opaque eyes.

  ‘Professor Malcolm?’ Gideon spoke softly as Malcolm remained unresponsive.

  ‘Indeed. So worthy of the honour of killing your niece!’ he said and laughed loudly.

  ‘No!’ Gideon rounded to grab the gun but before he could do so, Louds shot him in the opposing calf. Gideon cried out in pain as he collapsed to the floor.

  ‘Tut, tut. Now, look what you made me do. You’ll just have to crawl around on all fours, Professor, just like my feline brother used to.’ Louds laughed again, pointing at the mummified body of Purrsia at the foot of the altar. ‘You don’t think the irony was lost on me?’ Louds continued. ‘The furless animal, all skin and bone. Purrsia or should that be Persia, the Prince of Persia as you referred to me?’ He laughed. ‘Genius.’

  ‘Grotesque, Salazar, that’s the word you are struggling for – a grotesque.’ Gideon winced.

  ‘So, you do remember me. How kind. And I too remember you, Professor Gideon Belchambers or should I say – Halcombe?’

  ‘I do not follow. You’re talking in riddles,’ Gideon replied through gritted teeth, trying to confuse his adversary.

  ‘Such a unique name. I thought it would have taken us mere months to find you. Months, not fourteen years. I was losing hope and then imagine my luck after all that time. The Russian finally pays the debt he owes.’

  Gideon defiantly refused to acknowledge him and remained silent.

  ’Ignore me all you like. Perhaps you’d care to take a look on the sacrificial altar instead?’ Louds continued.

  Gideon closed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge him.

  ‘Look!’ he screamed, forcing Gideon up by the scruff. ‘Look!’

  Gideon’s head was planted against the black onyx at eye level. He tried as he might to ignore the inevitable until Louds forced his eyes open. Gideon’s tears were streaming before his lids parted. Staring directly into the young girl’s eyes he bowed his head down and let out an eruption of laughter.

  ‘The girl with the mark of the moon. Your niece, the usurper’s heir. Do you know how strict the secretariat are? Do you know that without her body I can never fulfil my rite?’

  ‘It’s not her.’ Gideon looked up at him. ‘It’s not her!’ Gideon laughed uncontrollably.

  ‘You’re lying. You are lying!’ Louds aggressively replied. Forcing Gem’s body upwards and revealing her back. ‘You see the mark!’

  ‘I see a mark.’ Gideon laughed hysterically. He leant forward, licked his finger and rubbed the crescent mark of congealed blood from Gem’s back. ‘Betrayed once more.’ Gideon laughed.

  In a fit of rage, Louds lashed the gun hilt across Gideon’s face, knocking him unconscious. ‘If I cannot kill her, I’ll take the next best thing!’ he screamed upwards towards the statues of the gods.

  *****

  ‘Are you still there?’ Belle continued down the microphone. An extended pause greeted her back. ‘If you decide you can trust us. Just call back. My name is Belle Soames. Not sure how you could ever check that what I have said is true but … well, anyway, that’s all I have. I must go now.’

  ‘Look,’ Thompson pointed to a flashing light at the central desk. ‘What do you think that is?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Belle replied.

  ‘Wait, can you hear that again?’ Thompson added.

  It was distant but the violins had started over once more.

  ‘People of London, OBEY, People of London, OBEY. Come onto the streets, do not be afraid. Do not be afraid,’ came the recognisable voice of Draper.

  Thompson left Belle waiting for a response from the children and ran back down to the cellar entrance. Donning his gas mask once more, he peeked out into the chaotic city of London. The skies were turning mauve. A combination of purple and violet the likes he had not seen. Lord Kitchener’s eyes were lighting up from the posters that plastered every street. Overhead, the final aircraft was lighting up targets before plumes of smoke dispersed their poison into the ether.

  ‘What in God’s name is happening?’ he said to himself.

  A blast of light, a powerful beam, shot across the rooftops. Followed swiftly by another. They were anti-aircraft spotters. The type deployed by the Protocols to help shell enemy craft. But they were not tracking the Messerschmitts, which swooped and dived. Instead, they were directed towards the metal zeppelins that flew above the city to deter the bombing raids. In turn, the angular metallic surfaces sent the light onwards cascading the city in a blanket of colour.

  ‘It’s not the Protocols,’ Thompson confirmed to himself. ‘He’s using them against us.’ Sprinting as fast as he could he returned to Belle. ‘Any news? ‘

  ‘Not yet,’ Belle confirmed. ‘But look, all the desks are lighting up now.’

  Thompson stepped back. Looking at the central hub and the surrounding desks feeding into it. Like a circle of dominoes, the lights came on one after the other. Just like the white light rush as Protocol after Protocol was completed.

  ‘It’s the Protocols, Belle. But not for any good.’

  ‘What are the Protocols? What do you mean?’ she replied confused.

  ‘If I am right, Draper has initiated them. It’s a system for communicating across the city at rapid speed and to protect us from attack. Draper is using them against us. You need to stay here in case I need you, or the children need you. I am off to Ludgate Hill.’

  *****

  Luna scratched so ferociously at the closed stone doorway her pads began to bleed.

  ‘Come, girl, come,’ Archie encouraged.

  The hidden room was small and echoed.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Noone asked, training his gun towards movement in the corner. ‘Speak. Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Dr Mialora. My name is Dr Mialora. My name is …’ came the repetitive tone.

  ‘You!’ Noone walked cautiously forward, gun drawn, and barely enough light to see in front of him. ‘Put down your weapon.’

  ‘Wait, Nathaniel, wait,’ Archie stepped in front of him. ‘I know his voice.’ Archie walked forward and passed his palms over the gentleman’s face. ‘It is
the Doctor. But not as we suspect,’ Archie confirmed. ‘This room. It’s not as I expected. Not as they should have been keeping him. Start searching, Nathaniel. Start feeling for anything but brick or stone.’

  In the darkness, Archie ran his hands along the wall. Noone joined him. They had finished three sides when Noone felt the stone shift to a much colder surface.

  ‘Here, what is it?’

  ‘Glass, I think,’ Archie replied.

  ‘Glass? I cannot see a thing through it,’ Noone replied in the pitch black.

  ‘Perhaps it’s for seeing in, not out.’

  ‘If that’s so, then, excuse me.’ Noone stepped them both back and fired a shot straight at it.

  The glass shattered and tore through the hung drape beyond, instantly flooding the room with light. Noone, Luna and Dr Mialora shrouded their eyes from the brightness.

  ‘Told you,’ Archie said and smiled.

  Noone looked through. Yet another room but well-lit, separate from the purple lighting of the rest of the Institute. In front of him, amidst a bank of communication wires and a telephony exchange, a spooling recorder played Kill, Kill, Kill over and over again. Next to it, not a gramophone as they thought but a second recording device playing the symphonic sounds of the gramophone.

  ‘I don’t suppose you two are our problem?’ Noone said sarcastically as he ripped the spools apart.

  The music stopped immediately. The repetitive orders to kill them desisted. The footsteps of the soldiers had stopped. Brian Louds’ army had frozen where they stood. Noone turned to see Dr Mialora in the light.

  ‘I know you,’ Noone said to him. ‘You are a doctor, but not this one. You must remember me, Sir Wallace. It’s Nathaniel Noone. Sir Wallace, Sir Wallace?’ Noone repeated clicking his fingers in front of the man’s unresponsive stare.

  ‘I am Dr Mialora,’ Sir Wallace James repeated.

  ‘No,’ Noone insisted to him. ‘You are not!’

  *****

  Thompson drove the saloon to its fastest limit. His sight was impaired by the misting gas mask as he breathed erratically and deeply, swerving constantly to avoid the people peppering the streets. The skies were a deep purple now as night time crept in. The fog of ethereal smoke engulfed the citizens, who were powerless to resist the continued commands. Thousands upon thousands took to the streets in swaying unison and aimlessly walked around. Should a Thunder Machine strike now, they would all be exterminated.