The Diamond Thief

by Sharon Gosling

  “He’s just a boy!” Rémy shouted, cursing at them. “A child! Leave him alone!”

  The men ignored her, scooping J up and planting him, tearful, back on his feet before pushing him roughly through the dark doorway and down the stairs.

  “You two,” said Jonesy, “get yourselves down them steps or I’ll throw you down ‘em. Understand?”

  Rémy glanced at Thaddeus before moving forward. At the top of the steps, she looked down. They spiralled steeply into darkness, though there was a light flickering somewhere below. She reached out to grasp the thin wooden handrail, flinching slightly. Her arm was stiff, the muscles around the gunshot wound clenched with the pain, and the rest of her felt as if she’d been crunched through a mangle at least once. Before she could begin the descent, she felt Thaddeus’ hand on her shoulder.

  “I don’t want you to fall again,” he said. “Let me carry you.”

  “Pfft,” she replied. “When I am in my coffin, then you can carry me.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  Rémy started down the steps with him close behind. “Why do you care?” she asked. “You know what I am. A thief. So why do you care?”

  Thaddeus said nothing and she glanced back up at him. His face was cloaked in shadow, but his mismatched eyes caught the meagre light from below. He was not looking at her, and she noticed he was frowning. He looked deep in thought and she wondered why, and then decided that she didn’t want to know.

  Rémy turned away and moved more quickly, ignoring the tearing pain that bit into her arm. They reached the bottom and found themselves back in the narrow, close-formed tunnels from which they had not so long ago escaped. Their captors hustled them along until the tunnel they were in opened out into a wider room. Alcoves had been carved into the dank walls, closed off by heavy, metal bars spaced several inches apart. They were clearly cells.

  The men divided the group in two and pushed them into opposite cells – Desai’s men in one, and the rest of them in the other. All except J.

  “Not you,” growled the man called Jonesy, as J went to follow Thaddeus and Rémy into the cell. “We’ve got other plans for you.”

  Rémy watched as J looked up at the big man, fearfully. “What ya’ goin’ to do to me, mister?”

  Jonesy grinned – a cruel, cold expression that darkened his eyes. Bending down until his face was level with the boy’s, he said, “You’re going to do the first honest day’s work of your life, son.”

  J flinched, and Rémy thought he was going to make another run for it but Jonesy was way ahead of him. He nipped J’s ear between his fat fingers, pinching until the boy yelped in pain, and still the thug did not let go, the grin on his face widening.

  Rémy threw herself at the bars. “Lâche!” She shouted, enraged, “Ugly, useless coward, to bully a child! You–”

  Jonesy lunged at the bars and, without letting go of J, reached through to wrap his thick hand around her slim throat. She choked, struggling to breathe, but Jonesy only gripped harder. He shook her like a dog shakes a rat caught in its jaws. She heard Desai and Thaddeus shouting, but the sound seemed to be coming from a very long way away. Darkness flickered at the edges of her vision and then, beyond its jagged edges, she saw a light brighter than she’d ever seen before. Rémy thought she sensed Death riding upon it, coming for her, and she realized that actually, she wasn’t as scared as she might have been. Life hadn’t proven so easy, after all. Death couldn’t be much harder, could it?

  She felt herself falling.

  Sixteen

  Revelations

  Thaddeus caught Rémy before she hit the floor and held her limp body on his lap. Abernathy’s men disappeared into the tunnels, laughing and chattering.

  “Is she dead?” he asked, the horror of his question engulfing him like a pit. “Is she dead?”

  Desai knelt beside them, gently pulling one of Rémy’s eyelids back and then shaking his head. “No. She is unconscious. She will be fine.” The Indian man fumbled beneath his robes for a moment before pulling out a vial of red liquid. “We must give her this. It will revive her and kill her pain, at least for a time.”

  Thaddeus held her closer. “What is it?”

  “The essence of a plant found in my country, that is all.”

  “Opium?” Thaddeus asked. “Because I’ve seen what the poppy does, and you’re not giving her that.”

  Desai shook his head. “Not opium. Far rarer than that. It is harmless, I assure you. Please. Let me help her.”

  Thaddeus nodded, still reluctant but with no alternative. Desai smoothed Rémy’s hair back from her pale face and then tipped the vial, pouring a few drops of liquid between her lips. Nothing happened for a moment, and then she coughed, her limbs jerking back into life as she gasped for air. Desai stepped back.

  “It’s all right,” Thaddeus told her, as she opened her eyes. “You’re all right.”

  To his surprise she curled into him, drawing her knees up and leaning her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, relieved to feel her breathing normally.

  “I have got to stop trying to get myself killed,” she muttered, the quiet words fluttering against his throat.

  Her comment made him laugh. “You have, indeed. There are cats with fewer lives than you.”

  Rémy shuddered, and then pulled away from him to look him in the eye for a moment. She seemed to be searching for something there, but he didn’t know what she was looking for. Her eyes were clear and bright, and the thought that the day would come when he would no longer see them filled Thaddeus with a sudden flash of despair.

  Rémy blinked, a frown crossing her face. She pulled away from him, shrugging off his offer to help her to her feet. Stretching out her arm, she pointed her fingers as if she were balancing on the high wire.

  “Every circus performer would take a vial of your medicine a day, monsieur, if they knew it existed,” she said, looking at Desai.

  Desai inclined his head in his customary half-bow. “It is a useful concoction.”

  She nodded. “Do you have anything to melt metal bars? Because that would also be useful at this moment.”

  “Sadly,” said Desai, pocketing the vial and what was left of the medicine inside it, “that vial is in my other robe.”

  Thaddeus went to the bars and shook them, but they were solid. Opposite, he could see Desai’s men doing the same, to no avail. The bars seemed stronger even than iron – they were silver, like that cursed machine that had held him captive only hours before.

  “Professor?” He asked, turning to his friend, who had sat huddled and silent in one corner since their incarceration. “Do you know what this metal is?”

  The Professor looked up unhappily. His face was grey and ashen. He blinked slowly at Thaddeus’ question, and then said, “It is titanium. It is very, very strong – and very light, too. Excellent stuff.”

  “Titanium?” Thaddeus asked. “But… but isn’t that a chemical element? Not a metal, surely?”

  His friend stood up slowly. “There have always been theories, ever since its discovery, that it could be prepared as a metal,” he said.

  Thaddeus looked at the bars again. “Do you – do you mean that Abernathy has managed to do it?”

  The Professor moved to stand beside Thaddeus, lifting a finger to run it smoothly down the silver metal. “Yes, Thaddeus. Him… or someone working for him…” his voice trailed off.

  “Do you know a way to break it?” Desai asked, coming to stand beside them, too. “In theory, if not in practice?”

  The Professor shook his head. “Sadly, I do not. Titanium is incredibly strong, stronger than any other metal ever mined, discovered or produced. That is why it is so valuable, and its metallurgy so fascinating.”

  Thaddeus turned to survey the rest of their surroun
dings and caught sight of Rémy watching the Professor with narrowed eyes. He wondered what she was thinking.

  * * *

  As Rémy watched the Professor, she was, indeed, deep in thought, her earlier suspicions flooding back. Her ponderings were disturbed by the sound of footsteps, hard against the compacted earth of the tunnel. A greater light grew nearer – gas, this time, rather than the poor candle they had been left with. A figure hove into view, striding ahead of his men, upright and strong – a leader – Lord Abernathy, himself.

  He was tall – not as tall as Desai but not far off. His body lithe and lean. Rémy looked for a trace of the old man she’d had the misfortune to meet at the Tower of London, but she could find none. Could this really be the same man? Surely not. He looked strong – not young, but not more than fifty, and he carried the years well. His face was thin, with a long jaw that tapered beneath a pronounced aquiline nose. His eyes were large, with hooded lids over blue irises. Abernathy was dressed in a well-cut suit of the finest cloth. A pocket watch hung from his breast pocket, shining silver in the gaslight. A red cravat was tied at his neck, against a starched, perfectly white shirt.

  His party came to a halt before the bars, and one of his men stepped forward to unlock the door.

  “Lord Abernathy,” he announced, as his master stepped inside.

  Rémy was still staring in silence, trying to fathom how this could be the same man who had tricked her out of the Darya-ye Noor, when Thaddeus spoke.

  “You are not Lord Abernathy,” he said, his voice incredulous. “I have met Lord Abernathy – he is a frail gentleman. Whoever you are, sir, you are an imposter.”

  The man narrowed his eyes for a moment, staring at the policeman. Then, without warning, he threw back his head and laughed. It was a high, thin sound that bounced from the walls and echoed around the labyrinth of tunnels.

  “Oh, my dear boy,” he said, once he had wiped the tears from his eyes. “Never let it be said that Scotland Yard isn’t the finest detective force in all the world. And how thankful I am for that.”

  “You may laugh, monsieur,” interjected Rémy, feeling compelled to defend Thaddeus, “but I have met Abernathy, too, and you are not he.”

  The suited man turned his gaze upon her, one eyebrow raised. “Ah yes. Rémy Brunel. Indeed, we have met. But do you not recognise me?”

  He leaned forwards a little, his shoulders dipping towards her and his eyes holding hers. She stared into those eyes... and, yes, there was that bright twinkle, the one she had seen on the night when it all went wrong. The rheumy eyes had given way to more youthful ones, but there was no mistaking their intelligence. Rémy gasped, taking a step back.

  “It is you! But how?”

  Abernathy turned away with a wave of one elegant hand. “My dear girl, as a trickster yourself, I am surprised you need to ask.”

  Rémy heard an intake of breath – it came from Thaddeus. “You charlatan!” he accused. “And I suppose now you will tell us that you did take it? That it was you who stole the jewel from the Tower.”

  Abernathy’s blue eyes regarded Thaddeus coolly. “I wouldn’t worry about the diamond if I were you, Thaddeus Rec. You have more pressing concerns at hand,” he said, before turning his back again. He stepped in front of Desai. “As for you, Desai, I heard you were in London. I have been searching for you for a long time. I felt sure you had come for me.”

  Desai inclined his head, a grim look on his face. “I did not know it at the time, but it seems perhaps I had. I always knew we would meet again.”

  Abernathy snorted. “Is that so? Then I am surprised you did not also know that it would be very bad for you if we did.”

  Abernathy spun suddenly to confront the Professor. “Ah ha!” he exclaimed. “And my dear Professor, how long has it been? Let’s see… At least a month, I think? Too long, in truth!”

  Rémy felt Thaddeus tense beside her as he realized that his friend and this villain knew each other. She swallowed hard, hoping for his sake that her worst fears were not about to be realized.

  “Professor?” Thaddeus asked in a hushed voice, before falling silent again.

  Abernathy held up a hand in Thaddeus’ direction, commanding silence. He leaned in towards the other man.

  “Imagine my surprise, my old friend,” he said with quiet menace, “to discover that you were one of those who came into my realm unbidden. That perhaps you even led these trespassers into it. Hmm?”

  The Professor began to reply, but Abernathy cut him off with a flick of his wrist. “But no matter. The plan is almost complete. Soon I will put it into action, this wonderful vision that you helped me to realize, Professor. And then, no one will stand in my way. Certainly not you, Desai,” Abernathy spat, turning to the Indian, “or this ragamuffin band of outcasts and foreigners.”

  “Where is the stone?” Rémy interrupted. “The Ocean of Light. Is it here? What have you done with it?”

  Abernathy turned to look at her with disdain. “My goodness. I was aware that circus folk were people of little intelligence, but surely, girl, even you must know when the game is up – or rather, when it has turned to more lofty goals.”

  Rémy shook her head. “I just want to know, monsieur.”

  Abernathy was dismissive. “Simply accept that you were beaten at your own game and be done with the matter.” He turned back to the Professor.

  “That I cannot do,” she said, to his back. “I need it. To break a curse.”

  Abernathy froze.

  “Don’t you recognise her name, Abernathy?” Desai’s deep voice broke into the sudden silence. “You should. You complained about it often enough, all those years ago.”

  The Lord turned slowly on his heel, before stepping closer.

  “Brunel,” he said.

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  His eyes pierced her. “Brunel. My god, I should have known. Your parents –”

  “Stole a diamond. I know. And now I am cursed and I will stay cursed, until I replace it.”

  Abernathy’s fascination turned to glee. He slapped his tailored thigh and laughed his high, thin laugh. “How wonderful! After all these years! And what a coincidence!”

  “Coincidence, Abernathy?” said Desai. “No. It is fate.”

  Abernathy snorted in derision. “Fate? Well, if that’s true then fate has something terrible in store for you, my friend. You’re as meddling as you were sixteen years ago, and trust me – this time nothing will stand in my way.”

  Then, without warning, Abernathy drew a pistol and fired a shot at the Indian. The bullet struck him full in the chest. A bright flower bloomed red in the midnight of his robe as he staggered backwards against the bars before slumping to the floor. From the cell opposite came a collective roar as Desai’s loyal men saw their leader dying before them. They ran at the bars, shaking them so hard that it seemed sure they would be dislodged.

  Abernathy waved his arm. “Get rid of them,” he snarled. “Put them in harness and make them work, or something. For goodness’ sake, what a racket.”

  His orders were followed immediately, his thugs dragging Desai’s men away down the stone passageway, their anger echoing against the walls as they struggled in vain. Amid the noise, Rémy rushed to Desai. She knelt beside him, hearing his erratic breathing. The bullet seemed to have hit him full in the chest – surely nothing could save him from such a direct shot? He was mouthing words, his eyes shut, and she wondered if he was praying to whatever god he worshipped. Rémy leaned forward and Desai’s dark eyes opened and fixed on hers. He shook his head and his mouth moved as if he wanted to tell her something, but he was already too weak.

  Desai’s eyes fluttered closed again as the life seemed to leave his body. Rémy sat back on her heels, shocked by the abruptness of his death. One moment he had been helping her, and the next… She stood up to
find Thaddeus standing between her and Abernathy, as if to shield her from his gun. Something rushed through her, catching her heart and making it flutter on wings she did not know it possessed. But then came something else that doused that unexpected flicker of joy with stark, cold fury. It threatened annoyance, exasperation even, at Thaddeus’ determination to protect her. She didn’t need his help. She didn’t need anyone, especially not a straight-laced policeman. She could get herself out of this mess, and hang everyone else. She pushed past him roughly, moving to stand nose-to-nose with Abernathy.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Your plan? Why are you doing this – enslaving people – killing people? To what end?”

  Abernathy grinned at her, and in his cold blue eyes she saw pure arrogance and a flash of something that she had only see once before – in the face of a madman.

  “Sorry,” he said, “but that’s information only my closest advisors are privy to. Advisors such as the Professor, here…” Abernathy stepped away from her and up to the man Thaddeus had trusted implicitly. “Come now, Professor. Your last chance, you know. I can still use a man like you.”

  The Professor hesitated for a moment, turning towards Thaddeus. “Thaddeus,” he began, and then seemed to change his mind. He gave a small shrug of his shoulders instead, and moved towards the cell door.

  “Marvellous! Then let us away, out of this nasty, damp place. We have work to do, kinks to iron out…”

  Before Abernathy reached the door, he stopped suddenly. He stood still, with his back to them for a moment, and then turned slowly to face them, his gaze fixed on Rémy.

  “But wait…” he said. “Something has occurred to me.”

  “Whatever it is,” Thaddeus said coldly, “we don’t want to hear it.”

  Abernathy waved his hand. “I have no interest in you, boy. A second-rate policeman is of no use to me. But you…” He pointed at Rémy. “You are altogether different.”