by Darrell Pitt
They grouped around the stone sarcophagus and gazed through the glass top. The lamplight illuminated a woman inside. She was wearing a long black dress. Her face looked as if it had been carved from ivory. Her gleaming white hands lay across her body, resting against her stomach. Long greying hair cascaded across the silk pillow supporting her head. She seemed about to draw breath.
After his initial shock, Jack found himself staring at the woman. She was really very beautiful. For a dead person.
‘I wonder who she is,’ Scarlet said.
‘Oh I know her,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘She is Lisa Gherardini.’
‘What?’ Jack asked. ‘Is she a murder victim? Or a missing person?’
‘Merely the model for the most famous painting on earth. You may have heard of it—the Mona Lisa.’
‘But who…?’ Jack stopped.
Mr Doyle held up his hand. ‘Who is responsible for leaving her body here? I can only speculate.’ He examined the sarcophagus. ‘The stonework for her tomb matches that of the early Roman popes.’ Mr Doyle stood back. ‘Yes. It is the same ancient carving. Constructed centuries before her death. Her body was obviously preserved by the odd contraption on the bench. Judging by the mould around the base of the sarcophagus, I would venture to say she has been here for centuries.’
‘Mr Doyle,’ Scarlet said. ‘You’re saying this is the Mona Lisa.’
‘Yes. This is the model da Vinci used for his famous painting.’
‘But what is she doing here?’ Jack asked.
‘Very little,’ Mr Doyle replied. ‘She is, after all, dead.’
Jack and Scarlet stared at him in silence.
‘Just a small joke.’ He coughed. ‘But there is an interesting connection we cannot ignore. Today we have seen both an unknown painting by Leonardo da Vinci and the famous model for another of his works. The link in the chain is the artist himself. But how did Scarlet’s father acquire the painting? And who left this body here?’
‘Could my father be responsible?’ Scarlet asked. ‘And where is he now?’
‘I don’t know, my dear,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I am sorry.’
He swept the sheet back over the sarcophagus and they filed upstairs to the warehouse. The sound of rain was a welcome relief for Jack. It had been unnerving being with the body. She appeared ready to awaken at any second.
Mr Doyle closed the trapdoor and smoothed over the muck and hay. He returned the lantern to its position on the wall.
He held up a finger. ‘Wait. I hear something.’
They all heard it now—the sound of an approaching steamcar.
‘Quickly!’ Mr Doyle ordered.
They raced to the rear of the building—not a moment too soon. The huge double doors were unlocked and a steamtruck backed into the open area as rain continued to pour outside.
The vehicle was an older model with six wheels, a large iron base and a rectangular bed covered by a teal-green tarp. Two men climbed from the rear. A third, speaking a foreign language, exited the cab and started giving orders. The men were clean-shaven with crew cuts, and dressed in dark-green overalls and caps. The other two lifted the cloth higher and dragged a pair of large timber crates from the rear.
‘They look like coffins!’
Mr Doyle clasped a hand over Jack’s mouth. If the men heard him, they gave no indication.
Jack stared in horror at the two boxes lying side-by-side. They were about the same size as the sarcophagus in the secret chamber below. The leader of the group appeared agitated. He yelled something at his companions who hurried back into the truck. They closed the doors. A moment later Jack heard the vehicle chug away.
The three left their hiding place and edged towards the containers. The rain started to fall even more heavily.
‘Mr Doyle,’ Scarlet began. ‘You don’t think...’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Once again Mr Doyle produced his trusty blade and started to work at the top edge of one of the boxes. ‘Help me to ease this up, Jack.’
They raised the lid. Scarlet stifled a cry of horror. A man lay within a solid block of ice in the box. He was well dressed, clean-shaven and very dead.
‘Who is he?’ Jack asked.
‘I can answer that,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But I would first like to test a theory. Please help me with the other box.’
A minute later they had the lid off the second crate. Inside another dead man lay encased in ice. Mr Doyle lit a lantern and held it over the ice tombs to inspect both bodies.
‘Who are they?’ Jack asked.
‘Two very famous men. May I introduce you to Douglas Milverton, the creator of Terrafirma, one of the most astounding inventions of our age.’
Scarlet peered at the man’s face. ‘My goodness,’ she said. ‘He looks absolutely terrified.’
Jack stared at the face. Scarlet was right. Milverton’s face was contorted into an expression of absolute horror. His eyes were wide and his mouth twisted into an eternal scream. It was ghastly.
Mr Doyle pointed to the other man. ‘This other gentleman is James Partington. You may recall his most famous creation.’
‘The amazing submersible!’ Scarlet exclaimed.
‘The amazing…what?’ Jack asked.
‘A submersible,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘A vessel constructed to travel under the water. A number of these have been commissioned, in the last year, by the Department of Defence. Their inventor is one James Partington, the gentleman who now lies before us. The government believes these may have made a real difference in the war if they had been developed earlier.’
Once again a cloud seemed to pass over Mr Doyle’s face. He shook his head as if to clear it.
‘He looks like he’s asleep,’ Jack said. ‘I wonder why Milverton looks so different.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Both men went missing in the last year. Now we know what happened to them. The question is why?’
‘Who were those men who delivered the bodies?’ Scarlet asked. ‘And are they responsible for the disappearance of my father?’
‘I would only be guessing,’ Mr Doyle said.
Jack was looking past Mr Doyle. Beyond his mentor lay the door through which they had entered. A face filled the glass panel set into it—the man who had been snapping orders at his companions. He held a gun at the ready, his eyes blazing with fury.
‘Watch out!’ Jack yelled. He threw himself at Mr Doyle. A gunshot rang out, exploding the glass as Jack knocked the detective to the ground. Scarlet pulled out her gun and fired a single shot. The bullet hit the doorframe.
‘Run!’ Mr Doyle cried.
They sprinted to the rear of the building. All three men piled through the door and started shooting. More shots whizzed past as Jack and the others took refuge behind a stack of crates. Jack glanced around the corner and saw that the lantern had tipped over in the confusion and was now smouldering in the hay. Flames spread to the nearby shelves.
‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ Scarlet said.
Jack peered around. A bullet slammed into the crates stacked beside him. He cried out in alarm.
‘My boy!’ Mr Doyle started.
‘I’m all right,’ Jack said.
Mr Doyle leaned around the corner and fired off a few shots. He looked about and then at the ceiling. ‘We’ll have to climb,’ he said. ‘You two go first.’
Scarlet lifted her skirt and started up the shelving. A moment later Jack followed. The girl impressed him. There had been some rough and tumble girls at Sunnyside, but none had Scarlet’s abundant pluck.
When they reached the top, Scarlet lay flat and fired her weapon at the gunmen, allowing Mr Doyle to climb after them. Jack eased open a window. The Lion’s Mane was tethered beside the building.
‘With a bit of luck we should be able to jump onto the balloon and slide down the side,’ Mr Doyle said.
Jack judged the distance. Blimey, he thought. That’s going to take more than a bit of luck.
‘We need to
create a diversion,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Jack, lend me a hand. Scarlet, continue firing, if you will.’
Scarlet kept shooting at the men at the far end of the warehouse. Each time they tried to manoeuvre to the centre aisle, she fired another pot shot at them. Smoke and fire continued to spread and their attackers yelled to one another.
‘The boxes are not too heavy,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But this will require our combined strength if it is to work.’
The detective braced his feet against the cases on the shelf in front of them. Jack did the same.
‘We’ll push on the count of three,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘One, two…three!’
They applied all their strength. At first Jack thought nothing was happening, and then he realised the shelf was beginning to tip.
‘Release!’ Mr Doyle said.
Pulling their legs back, the stack rocked towards them.
‘And again!’ Mr Doyle cried.
They pushed the shelf and this time it seemed to hover, balanced as if on a knife edge, until an instant later it fell away, slamming into the next shelf.
‘Quickly!’ Mr Doyle yelled. ‘Out the window!’
Jack shoved the window open wide. A narrow ledge ran around the outside of the building. Jack glanced back inside the warehouse. The shelves were toppling away like a row of dominoes. Smoke billowed everywhere. He heard screaming and crashing.
He leapt from the window and landed face first against the airship’s balloon. Using the friction of the surface, he slid down the side until he slipped off and landed on his feet. He saw Scarlet follow his lead. She leapt across to the balloon and slid down. The girl suddenly became airborne and landed on him.
‘Oomph!’ Jack gasped.
Scarlet rolled over. ‘Jack! I’m so sorry.’
‘That’s quite all right,’ Jack said. He had momentarily seen the underneath of Scarlet’s dress and realised he was blushing furiously. ‘Here’s Mr Doyle.’
Mr Doyle landed next to them rather more adeptly. ‘Hurry, you two. We’d better move before those chaps recover.’
Mr Doyle untied the airship and they piled into the gondola. The airship rose quickly over the buildings. Jack looked back at the warehouse. A window exploded and smoke trailed up into the evening sky. The rain had stopped.
He saw the men run from the structure and make a hasty getaway. By the time the Lion’s Mane had climbed high above the city, the warehouse had been reduced to a star fallen to earth, radiant in the heart of the darkening landscape.
The last light of day played along the horizon like the pieces of a broken bottle. Only the metrotower was visible, rising like a Roman column from the fog-enshrouded city.
Scarlet let out a sob.
‘My dear.’ Mr Doyle locked the airship’s steering wheel. ‘Are you all right?’
Jack felt as if his heart were about to burst from his chest. Scarlet had been so strong during the whole ordeal. If she burst into tears, he was afraid he would too.
‘No, I fear I am not.’ Scarlet dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. ‘We have been through so much and not moved ahead an inch.’
‘On the contrary,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘A fortunate clue has landed in our laps.’
‘A clue? What clue?’ Jack asked.
Mr Doyle returned to the steering panel of the airship. ‘The fellows back at the warehouse were speaking German.’
‘And you could understand them?’
Mr Doyle nodded. ‘It is one of the twelve languages of which I have a passing knowledge.’
‘What did they say?’ Scarlet asked, sitting forward.
‘One of them was looking forward to his cheese and sauerkraut sandwich,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I must confess I salivated at the thought of it.’
‘Mr Doyle!’ Jack interrupted.
‘Oh, yes. The fellow in charge told the others they had to hurry. It seems their next target is Paul Harker.’
‘Paul Harker!’ Jack exclaimed. ‘Why, he’s famous!’
‘The inventor of the space steamer,’ Scarlet said.
‘And our first astronaut,’ Mr Doyle said, looking up into the night sky.
CHAPTER NINE
As the sun set and the light drained from the sky, Mr Doyle set their instruments for the metrotower. He cooked and served dinner before producing bedding and nightclothes for everyone. Drawing a curtain across the middle of the living room, he provided Scarlet with her own bedroom.
‘I fear I only have men’s night apparel,’ Mr Doyle said as he handed the clothing to the girl.
‘I should be most concerned if you kept women’s apparel in your drawers,’ said Scarlet.
‘Quite,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Quite.’
The detective turned the lamp down low as Jack climbed into his bunk bed. Sleeping in such a confined space reminded him of the orphanage. Sometimes when the lights went out, Charley Spratt and his cronies would roam the dorm rooms, searching for one of the smaller boys to bash.
Jack shivered. He had been on the receiving end of Charley’s bashings. At least he had always tried to fight back—the worst error was to curl up on the bed and do nothing.
He lay in his bed and looked through the curved window at the sky. Circling the globe at this very moment were hundreds of space steamers, travelling between dozens of metrotowers. It was hard to visualise. Jack had heard about the wonders of space flight and even seen the occasional sketch in a newspaper, but imagining it was an entirely different thing. Entire fleets of trading vessels moved supplies from one tower to another—and that did not include the military ships patrolling the borders between the nations.
‘You’ve done very well, Jack,’ Mr Doyle said.
‘Thanks, Mr Doyle. I like it.’
Mr Doyle laughed. ‘Being shot at is fun, is it?’
‘Sure beats the orphanage.’ A thought occurred to Jack. ‘You have a son, don’t you?’
In the darkness now was the pale light of the moon filtering through the airship’s curtains and the dim glow from the bridge lighting. Mr Doyle was silent for a moment before he said, ‘I had a son. His name was Phillip. He was killed in the war.’
Jack remembered Mr Doyle’s uncomfortable silence. He cursed himself. He was an absolute idiot sometimes. Scarlet was only a year older, yet she was far wiser. She knew when to speak and when to remain silent.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘That’s all right, Jack,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I also have a grandson, although I have not seen him for some time.’
‘Why is that? Does he live far away?’
‘No. He lives on the east coast.’ Mr Doyle paused. ‘His name is Jason. His mother’s name is Amelia. When the war began, Phillip signed up. So did I.’
For what seemed like an eternity the only sound was the chugging of the airship’s engine.
‘Phillip believed what they told him about king and country,’ Mr Doyle continued, ‘but I had no such illusions. I knew there would be bloodshed. I had fought in the Boer conflict, and had heard the lies that politicians tell. I knew the tragedy that war brings.
‘The pacts drawn up prior to the Great War were built on a house of cards. Great Britain was allied with France, Germany with Austria, and every country held similar alliances. Many naively believed there would be a clearing of the deck, a resolution of old grievances.
‘Not I. My interest was in protecting my son, and with my previous military service I was able to enrol as an officer. Phillip was in my regiment. We were sent over to France to fight.’
Mr Doyle’s voice had become so ghostly in the darkness that Jack could not resist the urge to interrupt.
‘What was it like?’
His mentor gave a bitter laugh. ‘A bloodbath. Phillip and I were stationed in the Somme, buried in mud and filth and gore. It was an impossible situation. Men were dying all around us, but we both knew we were expected to do our duty.
‘One morning we were ordered to charge a German emplacement. I led the regi
ment across the muddy field. I thought we would both die. That would have been a tragedy, though at least we would have been together. Mortar fire started all around us as we charged across that terrible field.
‘I suddenly tripped. When I tried to stand I found myself caught in barbed wire. It was all over the place. The more I struggled to free myself from it, the more I became entrapped. I could see Phillip running ahead with the other men in the early morning gloom.
‘In desperation, I screamed for him to slow down. I continued to struggle with the barbed wire until I finally tore free. Racing after him, I was only about twenty feet behind when the mortar attack hit him and his companions.
‘The explosion threw me back. I lay there unconscious for God knows how long. It could have been minutes. Or hours. When I woke, I crawled over to where Phillip had been.’
The airship carved a path across the sky. Jack felt tears on his face as he watched the stars rotate out of view.
I should have stayed silent, Jack thought, his stomach turning over. Mr Doyle has already suffered enough without me making things worse.
‘There was nothing left of him,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I found pieces of clothing and identification. His dog tags. Every man was issued with them. Nothing else. His friends had also been killed. Sometimes people ask me what the war was like and I simply tell them it reduced men to nothing. That’s what the war did for Phillip. It reduced a brave, strong young man to nothing.
‘His mother was already dead, thank God; Sarah could not have borne his loss. But when I returned to England, Phillip’s wife, Amelia, blamed me for his death.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Jack said.
‘I know,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It was the war. I still carry Phillip’s dog tags around my neck. They remind me of that barbed wire. If only I had not been caught on it…’ ‘You probably would have been killed too, sir.’
‘Perhaps.’ The silence ticked on. ‘War is a great injustice, my boy.’
‘I know, Mr Doyle.’
‘Injustice must be fought.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The night moved over them. Jack looked up into the sky and watched the stars. He saw them linked by barbed wire and he imagined himself snared, legs caught on blazing embers, stuck fast in the night.
