Disappearing Act

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Cordelia arched an eyebrow and took a sip of her drink. ‘Don’t remind me. Mrs Thornthwaite is positively apoplectic down in the kitchen – I wanted to stop by and see how my puddings had turned out, but I don’t dare for fear of being roped into hours of turkey-stuffing.’

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ Fitz said, laughing.

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ Cordelia put down her glass and clasped her nephew’s hands. ‘You’ve done a brilliant job with those children – they’re even more magnificent than I could ever have imagined.’

  Fitz flushed. It didn’t matter how old he was; every word of praise from Cordelia transported him back to his ten-year-old self seeking her approval. ‘I certainly didn’t raise them on my own. Anna and Ed are wonderful parents, Cordelia. If only we can get them back here in one piece, you could see so for yourself.’

  Cordelia’s eyes glistened as Fitz kissed her cheek. Then he turned and walked from the room. For several minutes after he’d left, she stood there staring into the firelight. She’d gone over things in her mind more times than she cared to remember. Ed and Anna were far too clever to have been caught in a rebel uprising. Anyway, recent intelligence suggested there was no evidence of them having been in Africa at all. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense – there was only one reason they would have broken their cover and left the children.

  Cordelia crossed her hands over her pounding heart. If anyone could find them, it would be Fitz, and if he knew more than he was prepared to admit, then she needed to butt out and let him get on with it.

  As the children burst through the front doors, there was much chatter and conjecture about Rupert’s arrival. Song was pleased to see them, having wondered where on earth they’d all disappeared to. Their supper was waiting for them in the conservatory.

  ‘Why would he do it?’ Inez mused. She tightened the band that was holding back her copper curls. ‘I mean, it’s not ideal to skydive in cloudy weather – unless he was testing some top-secret new technology.’

  The children agreed that seemed the most rational scenario and were keen to find out what sort of aircraft had provided such stealth-like means. They followed their noses and charged down the hall towards the conservatory while Kensy and Max hung back.

  ‘Song, do you know where our uncle is?’ Max asked.

  ‘I suspect he has gone upstairs to change,’ the man replied. Song was momentarily distracted by a patch of dust on a side table and made a mental note to do another round with the feather duster when everyone had retired for the evening.

  ‘He didn’t even have a bag with him,’ Max said.

  ‘Your uncle still has a bedroom upstairs – just down the hall from you two,’ Song said. ‘His wardrobe is fully stocked so it does not matter if he arrives without so much as a pair of underpants. I hope he likes the superhero ones I ordered the other day.’

  The twins laughed.

  ‘He didn’t even say hello,’ Kensy said stroppily. She looked at Song from beneath knitted eyebrows. ‘Are you sure he knows we even exist? Or cares?’

  The butler nodded. ‘I am certain of it, but don’t expect too much of him. He can be . . .’ The man grasped for the right words. ‘Confucius says that only the wisest and stupidest men never change.’

  ‘And which category would you place me in, old man?’ a voice said from behind them.

  Song and the twins spun around to see Rupert standing on the staircase. How long he’d been there was anyone’s guess. Kensy couldn’t help but giggle nervously.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ Song said, without missing a beat. He bowed – but not as deeply as he usually would, Max noted. ‘It is good to see you again. I hear that you made quite the entrance.’

  Rupert sauntered down the stairs, smiling at them. He was now casually dressed in a pair of jeans with a light pink shirt and a grey sweater slung around his shoulders. ‘In answer to your question, my dear Kensington, yes, I am very much aware of you and your brother. In fact, I have been dying to meet you both ever since I found out you were here. I’ve been away on assignment – these things do have a tendency to get in the way of even the best-laid plans. I suppose you’ll understand that soon enough.’

  He considered the children carefully.

  ‘Your parents must be so proud,’ he continued, and Kensy was moved to see his eyes begin to water. She was starting to feel quite guilty for accusing her uncle of being disinterested. ‘Sorry, it’s just that you’re both so much like Eddie.’ Rupert pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes.

  Max hesitated for a moment before pushing his shoulders back and walking towards the man with his hand outstretched. Rupert shook it, then wrapped his muscular arms around the boy. ‘It’s good to meet you, Uncle Rupert,’ Max said, realising immediately that there was something uncomfortable about the man’s embrace. Max didn’t know what it was – perhaps it felt forced.

  ‘Uncle Rupert,’ the man repeated. ‘I like the sound of that.’ He looked at Kensy and grinned. ‘Do you have a hug for your favourite uncle too?’

  Kensy smiled and embraced him. She’d been thinking about the uncanny similarities between Rupert and their father – and Max too. ‘You look a lot like Dad,’ she said, stepping back.

  ‘God, no. I’m far more handsome than Ed,’ the man scoffed. He laughed and added, ‘Only because I’m younger and have much better dress sense.’

  Song pressed his lips together to avoid the risk of opening his mouth.

  Encouraged by her uncle’s candour, Kensy decided that now was as good a time as any to put him on the spot. ‘Do you know what really happened to Mum and Dad and why they left Pharos in the first place?’ she asked. ‘Fitz says that they all wanted a normal life, but we think there’s more to it – our lives were hardly normal.’

  Max glared at his sister, wishing she’d waited until they knew the man a little better before giving him the third degree.

  Song cleared his throat. ‘Miss Kensington, perhaps you should allow your uncle to tell you all that he knows in due time.’

  Rupert smirked. ‘There’s nothing to tell, really. I don’t know any more than you do. Your mother was pregnant – she had cold feet about bringing up her children inside Pharos, so they staged their own deaths and we all went along with it – except that for quite a long time I was led to believe they were dead, the same as everybody else. Bit of a shock to discover that I’d been hoodwinked. Old Confucius here would know the real story – he outranked me for years until recently, but Mummy’s probably sworn him to secrecy. It’s like that around here.’

  Song shifted from one foot to the other, causing the floorboards to groan.

  Rupert raised his eyebrows at the butler. ‘Isn’t there somewhere you should be? Tables to wait? Drinks to pour? The children and I have a lot of catching up to do. We’ll be in the library – rustle us up something to eat and I’d like a glass of ’86 Grange. I’m quite partial to an Australian drop – must be because Mummy came from convict stock, although I suppose we can forgive her that.’

  Song puffed out his chest. ‘Master Maxim and Miss Kensington are having supper in the conservatory with their classmates. Afterwards, they are required to attend a debriefing led by Mr Nutting and Miss Witherbee on this evening’s training exercise.’

  Rupert cocked his head to one side. ‘I didn’t realise Willow was here. I’ll pop by and say hello. She won’t mind if I commandeer the children. After all, they are my long-lost niece and nephew.’

  Max bit down on his thumbnail. ‘Um, Uncle Rupert, if you don’t mind, I think we should go,’ he said, sounding less certain than he felt. He didn’t want the other kids to think he and Kensy got any special treatment. ‘Kensy and I are so new at this spy business that we really need to learn everything we can.’

  Kensy rolled her eyes. Trust Max to spoil the fun. The last thing she felt like doing after dinner was going over Nutter’s and Busybee’s boring notes on a scenario her team had won. Although the fac
t that she had bragging rights appealed to her, so there was that at least.

  ‘Well, I can see which of you is the fun twin.’ Rupert gave Kensy a wink.

  The girl giggled then, remembering herself, chastened. ‘Max is probably right,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Especially after what happened in London.’

  Max caught his sister’s eye and touched his left ear. It was so quick and natural that no one would have guessed it was their special signal. Thankfully, Kensy noticed and closed her mouth. He didn’t want her discussing all that with Uncle Rupert. It just didn’t seem like the right time to regale him with the story of how they had evaded being kidnapped – twice – when they still had no idea who had been after them. Kensy was positive it was one of the gardeners from Alexandria called Shugs, but Max and Fitz didn’t share her conviction.

  Rupert shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be here later on. I’m sure there’s a party somewhere with my name on it.’

  ‘We’ll do our best to get away early,’ Kensy promised. She desperately wanted to spend some time with her uncle. He reminded her so much of their father and she had a hunch that he would tell them things no one else would. Besides, he was clearly very adventurous and didn’t take himself too seriously – no doubt he could teach them loads of things too.

  But Max wasn’t so eager. For someone who had just shed a tear for them a few minutes ago, their Uncle Rupert seemed almost disinterested now. Fitz had mentioned on more than a couple of occasions how difficult the man was to pin down, and right at the moment Max thought that was a pretty fair assessment.

  Ida Thornthwaite pushed up her sleeves and scooped a large helping of lasagne onto Kensy’s plate. ‘Well done, dear,’ the woman said. ‘I heard you outsmarted the enemy tonight.’

  Kensy nodded, beaming. That meant a lot coming from the single most deadly knife-thrower in the agency. ‘It was about time, really. I was beginning to think I had no strategic skills at all.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true. If you’re anything like your father, you’ll have tactical activities mastered in no time,’ Mrs Thornthwaite said with a wink. She turned to smile at Max, who requested a serving of spaghetti bolognaise and some garlic bread.

  ‘This looks amazing,’ the boy said, heaping a mountain of grated parmesan on top. He was ravenous. The children were meant to have had a snack before training, but Max had lost track of time in the library, studying a new book he’d found on codes.

  Kensy wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like some pasta with all that cheese?’

  ‘Ha ha,’ her brother replied, but when Mrs Thornthwaite held up her spoon to offer more, he happily passed her his plate. Max inhaled deeply. ‘If this tastes half as good as it smells, I’ll be in heaven.’

  ‘I couldn’t help myself tonight,’ Ida said, pleased that her efforts were appreciated. ‘After hearing you lot talk of Italy and your upcoming trip, I thought it was only fitting. I haven’t been there since we brought down a scurrilous Prime Minister over twenty years ago, but I just adore the food.’

  The twins grinned. The woman looked around and leaned forward. ‘Dame Spencer won’t be happy to see the grocery bill. The price of imported Italian pasta is through the roof at the moment. I couldn’t believe my eyes!’

  It seemed strange to think that the elderly cook had once been an active agent. Up until a couple of days ago, when the woman had given the most enthralling lesson on handling all manner of blades, Kensy had only ever thought of her as a grandmotherly figure. Round and squishy, Ida Thornthwaite possessed a smile as warm and comforting as the winter meals she prepared. Kensy now knew better. Mrs Thornthwaite’s skills were lethal.

  The twins thanked the woman again and joined their friends, although they had very little time to eat as Miss Witherbee was barking orders to hurry up. The woman reminded Kensy of a greyhound – skinny and angular – but with the temperament of a cranky terrier.

  Kensy and Max scoffed down their meals and scampered over to join the tail end of the line of children being ushered from the conservatory via a concealed doorway, which for all the world looked like a wall of mirrors. They headed down a set of stone steps to a passageway beneath the rear courtyard and into their classroom in the bunker under the stables.

  As to be expected, this was no ordinary teaching space. For a start, there was a complete absence of desks and chairs. Instead, the room was arranged in the style of an amphitheatre. The children’s names were lit up on the riser where they were required to sit and, to date, their seating arrangements had changed each time so that they never sat next to the same person twice. On the opposite curved wall was a huge screen that the teachers had used several times now during lessons. Willow Witherbee was sitting in a single chair close to the door.

  Mr Nutting, resplendent in his customary navy-and-red tracksuit, stood in front of them. A three-dimensional plan of the maze appeared between him and the children, floating a metre from the ground. Max had worked out it was a hologram that was somehow projected from below, but he was yet to understand the finer details.

  The teacher scratched at the side of his nose and zipped up his jacket. Kensy noticed that, for a man whose face was still youthful, he had more than his fair share of grey hairs. It was probably stressful being a teacher and even more so working undercover as an agent.

  ‘Shall we take a look at how things played out tonight?’ Mr Nutting began. ‘As always, I want you to think strategy and where you went wrong.’

  Avatars of each one of the children appeared inside the hologram of the maze. The students leaned forward in their seats, eager to get through the activity as quickly as possible. It had been Harper’s birthday yesterday and the girl had leftover treats that she’d promised to share once they were in their dorms.

  ‘Can you see your mistake, Sachin?’ Mr Nutting pointed at the avatar of Alfie with a long wand-like implement that shot a glowing beam from its tip.

  Sachin grimaced as he watched Alfie take him out at almost point-blank range within the first minute. ‘I was too busy looking for Max, sir. I wasn’t paying attention to anything behind me,’ he replied. ‘And I might have been thinking about who was going to be our opening batsman in the upcoming Melbourne Boxing Day test.’

  There was a titter of giggles from the other children as Gordon Nutting shook his head. ‘Well, in this business you need laser focus and eyes in the back of your head. There is no time to be daydreaming about cricket.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Sachin said meekly.

  The man was about to continue when he caught sight of Inez and Yasmina whispering in the back stalls. Gordon pointed his wand towards them, a red dot centring on Inez’s forehead bang on one of her freckles. It took a few moments for the girls to realise that everyone was staring at them.

  ‘What?’ Yasmina said, before spotting the glaring sign on her friend’s brow. She pressed her forefinger to her lips and swallowed.

  Inez looked around. ‘Do I have something in my teeth?’ she asked.

  Carlos shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, but Mr Nutting might be about to kill you with his laser pointer.’

  The children laughed and Inez shrunk down in her seat.

  ‘You’re lucky I’m not in the mood for blood tonight, girls.’ Mr Nutting sighed. ‘Now, could we please get back to the task at hand?’

  The footage continued and there were several times the teacher sped up the action. Kensy tapped her foot, wishing he would play the whole thing on fast forward. She really wanted to get back inside and find her uncle before he went out. Miss Witherbee also seemed eager to be on her way. She had stood up from her seat and positioned herself by the door.

  ‘Let’s run through the last five minutes to see what led to the ultimate demise of Sachin’s team,’ Mr Nutting said. ‘Actually, perhaps you would like to take the children through this section, Miss Witherbee.’

  All eyes turned to the woman, who was glued to her phone. She was smiling to herself and
seemed far, far away.

  ‘Earth to Willow,’ the man said, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

  The ripple of laughter from the children roused the woman.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, her cheeks flushing. She dropped her phone into her pocket and straightened. ‘What did you say, Mr Nutting?’

  ‘Forget it,’ the man muttered, and proceeded to walk the room through the final part of the exercise before firing questions at the children about what they could and should have done differently. He praised Kensy’s quick thinking and flexibility to get herself to the tree and then invited the group to offer some alternative scenarios.

  Carlos was the first to volunteer. He had been watching the playback carefully and had devised a plan where he could have covered Dante if only they’d thought to work together. He moved the figures around in the maze with a swipe of his hand and, seconds later, the outcome was completely different, with Kensy being the one who was shot. She also fell out of the tree, which garnered guffaws of laughter.

  Kensy rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to rub her shoulder. ‘Gee, thanks, Carlos. That would have hurt.’

  Mr Nutting asked for another version of events and this time it was Max who put up his hand. Kensy eyeballed her brother, trying to send him a telepathic message to make it quick, but it seemed that he had reimagined the entire evening and come up with several ways their team could have finished off the others in half the time it had actually taken. To his credit, his ideas were pretty amazing. Even Mr Nutting was impressed.

  It was just after nine o’clock when the children were dismissed and, although they were bone-tired, the twins set off in search of their uncle. Kensy shivered as they wandered the halls, having left her coat back in the classroom. But the man was nowhere to be found. It was probably for the best given the twins could barely keep their eyes open. When Mim said she’d seen headlights on the driveway, they gave up the search.

  The twins made their way down a long corridor towards the back door. At least two metres wide, the passage housed a range of ornate antique furniture, including bureaus and sideboards, a grandmother and grandfather clock and a rather startling brown bear standing on its hind legs and baring its very pointy incisors. Song told them his name was Frank and he’d been a pet many years ago, when it was a fanciful trend in Victorian England to keep exotic animals. Apparently, the creature had romped about the gardens like a faithful hound and was known for his placid temperament. But Kensy and Max’s great-grandfather had decided that, in death, Frank might prefer to be a little fierce – hence the stance and sharpened teeth.