by Darrell Pitt
‘I am Ignatius Doyle,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘A consulting detective.’
‘I am well aware of your identity,’ Paul Harker said. ‘The moment you announced yourself at the front desk a team of researchers was notified and started combing our files for information. I know Scotland Yard thinks most highly of you.’
‘I have assisted them on one or two occasions,’ Mr Doyle admitted.
Mr Harker reached the bottom of the stairs and shook Ignatius Doyle’s hand. ‘You must explain to me how you knew so much about my daughter Lucy.’
‘Your daughter?’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It was elementary. This young lady has not long returned from Europe. Her dress was not made in Britain. Her skin carries a healthy glow. We are just completing winter, so the chances are she has travelled to Europe. The dress is quite new, so I deduce she acquired it during her time abroad.’
‘And the other details?’ Lucy asked. ‘The sewing… the music…’
‘Simplicity itself,’ he said. ‘You have scars on your fingers, specifically the forefinger of your left hand where you injured yourself with a needle. There must not have been a woman around, so you learnt to sew with only the advice of your father. The fact that there are so many scars means you worked for some time at it—without much success.
‘When you came around the desk to take my card, you placed your left foot against the inside ankle of your right—third position in ballet. You still do it naturally, so I assume you enjoyed it more than sewing.
‘Your love of the violin is obvious. The red mark under your chin betrays your many hours of practice.’
‘But the science?’ the woman asked. ‘How could you possibly know about that?’
‘Simply a matter of deduction, my dear. On the inside edge of both your left and right fingers is a callous, brought about by the use of a microscope. You also have tiny white burn marks on the palms of your hands from, I assume, the misuse of chemicals.
‘And as to the running, that is simple. You move like a runner. Someone who enjoys competition.’
‘There are all too few opportunities for women to compete,’ she muttered.
‘Then you are in a race against yourself.’
‘And finally...’ Lucy’s voice became as hard as stone.
‘It is not important,’ Mr Doyle said.
Jack knew Mr Doyle did not wish to intrude on the woman’s personal life. The details of her unhappy relationship were better left unsaid.
‘It seems you know a great deal about my daughter,’ Mr Harker said.
Lucy Harker inclined her head. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. At least, I think I am.’
‘But I understand you also know something about me,’ Paul Harker said.
‘Mr Harker,’ Mr Doyle began. ‘We have been investigating a case in relation to the disappearance of Miss Bell’s father—Joseph Bell. Have you ever heard the name?’
‘Lucy.’ Mr Harker turned to his daughter. ‘Will you please make tea? We’ll be in the sitting room.’
‘Of course, Father,’ Lucy replied, leaving the room.
Paul Harker led them to a sitting area decorated in red-and-green herringbone wallpaper. A huge display cabinet covered one wall. A massive window, looking out across the landscape, filled another. Mr Harker invited them to sit in comfortable chairs around an oak coffee table. ‘No,’ he finally said. ‘I am unfamiliar with that name.’
‘You have of course heard of Douglas Milverton and James Partington?’
‘Of course. They are two of the greatest inventors of our generation.’
‘As you are no doubt aware, both these men have gone missing during the course of the last year,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘We discovered their bodies last night.’
‘They were frozen in ice,’ Jack broke in. ‘Like fish.’
‘Frozen?’ Mr Harker was astounded.
‘The men in possession of their bodies spoke German,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Are you or your daughter familiar with the language?’
‘Only a few words.’
‘The men mentioned your name. They said they were on their way to get you.’
‘This is all very strange. Mind you, the disappearance of Milverton and Partington was unusual, too. What do you suggest?’
‘Until this mystery is solved, I believe you need to increase your level of security. You must not go anywhere without protection, and I would advise the same for your daughter.’
Mr Harker stroked his chin. ‘I did not become wealthy by being foolhardy,’ he said. ‘I did also not venture into the reaches of space without taking precautions. I will follow your recommendations, especially if you believe that my daughter may also be at risk.’
Lucy walked in with a tray carrying a teapot and cups. ‘Don’t tell me this conspiracy involves me?’
‘Your safety may be compromised,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘We need to do everything necessary to safeguard your lives.’
A great shadow passed over the bank of windows. Jack turned to see a bronze shape, the size of a house, coming directly at them. He recognised it as an airship just as the thing slammed into the side of the metrotower, shattering the enormous windows and sending books and furniture flying in all directions.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jack fell to the ground. A freezing, howling wind filled the room. The balloon lay outside the building, but the end of its enormous gondola—a sword-shaped cradle—had pierced the wall. A ramp fell open from the front and men started pouring into the room. The invaders were dressed in brown shirts with matching pants and cap. Their belts were black leather, as were their boots.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Paul Harker demanded of the nearest invader. The man clubbed him to the ground.
‘Father!’ Lucy cried.
Jack raised his head. His absolute shock had paralysed him. Scarlet produced her gun, but one of the men wrestled it from her grasp and delivered a punch to her jaw. She sagged. Mr Doyle leapt to his feet and tackled the assailant. During the tussle, another man came up behind the detective and hit him across the back of the head. He dragged Mr Doyle away as Scarlet was lifted from the ground.
All this time Lucy had been holding her father in her arms. Now she was thrown out of the way. Jack struggled to stand. It seemed to take him an eternity. His legs were shaking. He felt powerless. These men seemed capable of anything—even murder.
One of the invaders lifted Mr Harker from the ground. In one smooth action he and Scarlet were carried into the airship. Scarlet was barely conscious. A small, black-haired man with a postage-stamp moustache stood in the entrance. He seemed to be monitoring the operation. Mr Doyle struggled to his feet. Lucy Harker lay still on the floor. The man gave a nod of satisfaction before he and his men marched back into the gondola.
Jack felt like he was in a dream. The roar of the wind was terrible. The cold was mind numbing. It was almost impossible to breathe in the exposed air of the room. At the same time he noticed a vase hovering on the edge of the bookcase. It fell, as if in slow motion, to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Jack woke from his stupor.
The ramp slid up into place. The gondola was moving. It was withdrawing from the building—with Scarlet and Paul Harker inside!
No! Jack thought. I’ve got to do something.
He ran. He had to stop the airship. He had to save Scarlet and Mr Harker. Jack may have fallen into some sort of shock at the sudden turn of events, but now he knew what he had to do. The gondola pulled away from the building, its distance increasing with every second. Three feet. Four feet. Five feet.
Jack put all his strength into the run as he leapt across the gap from the building to the gondola.
‘No!’ Mr Doyle bellowed.
A chain ran across the bottom of the ramp. Jack grabbed it and pulled it close to him between shaking hands. He was hanging on to the outside of the ship—miles above the earth. Looking back, he saw the shattered metrotower moving away from them—but that was an optical illusion. They were moving away from it. Lucy h
ad her arms outstretched. Jack saw the great detective struggle to his feet, looking around desperately, and then dive into a pile of broken rubble and draw something from it.
A sword.
The detective raced to the shattered window and flung the weapon like a javelin. It sailed through the air and struck the balloon, sticking fast. After a few seconds the effect of gravity and the movement of the airship caused it to drop, tearing the canvas. The vessel would be forced to land or risk falling from the sky.
Jack looked back one last time to see Lucy Harker and Mr Doyle standing at the edge of the building.
Good old Mr Doyle, Jack thought, as he was carried away from the metrotower.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jack hung to the chain for dear life. He was chilled by the wind, as if he had leapt into an icy lake. It was unbearable, howling like a banshee and tearing at Jack with a mind of its own, determined to yank him free of the airship.
His weight had pulled the chain taut, but he was able to twist the length around both wrists. Jack thought it may have been used to hold the ramp in place when the ship was tethered to the ground. He didn’t care. All he wanted was to escape the searing cold. All he wanted was to breathe normally.
He vowed not to look down, but he couldn’t help himself. The world lay beneath him like a tapestry. He was still so high above the planet it was reduced to colours and patterns. He forced his gaze back to the metrotower. They were racing away from it and the ugly impact caused by the airship attack.
Ignatius Doyle and Lucy were getting smaller by the second. Jack also realised something else—the airship was descending. Swiftly.
I’ve got to hang on, he thought. I’ve got to hold on until we land.
He placed his face against the metal ramp of the airship. He needed air and he needed warmth. He struggled to fill his lungs, but something was wrong. The atmosphere was too thin. His head swam.
It occurred to Jack that he was about to die. The prospect scared him, but he would never have behaved differently—Mr Doyle had been his friend, and Jack would not let him down.
He felt terribly dizzy. Forcing himself to think of Scarlet, he promised to take her to a music hall if he ever had the chance. She was a lady, but she was different from all the other toffs. She was friendly, and kind, and…Well, just so blinkin’ beautiful.
Dots appeared before his eyes.
If this was the end, he decided, he would envision Scarlet’s face. Her eyes. So pretty. Green, they were. Two deep emerald pools...
Blackness came.
Jack woke to the feeling of water trickling down his cheeks. His hands were numb. Opening his eyes, he saw a large grey shape above him. It seemed to stretch forever. It was some sort of sailing ship.
How did he end up in this place? And his hands… they were bright purple.
What the—?
Of course. It was not a sailing ship. It was an airship. Jack looked down and saw a field of wheat about a hundred feet below him. It all came back. The metrotower. The airship attack. His leap. Hanging on to the side of the balloon.
The airship was coming in to land—and at speed, by the look of it. A hissing came from somewhere. That’s right, Mr Doyle had pierced the side with that sword. Jack had to break free from the gondola and hide before the occupants exited, otherwise the ramp would descend—right on top of him.
He drew his left hand free. He tried gripping the chain. But his hand had lost all sensation so he wrapped the chain around his arm instead. He repeated the action with his other arm.
As the airship dropped, he felt the blood starting to return. He tried flexing his fingers. Good. The feeling was sluggishly coming back to them. Looking back down, he saw the ground rising. Fast.
He was sure they were about to crash until, at the last moment, the airship accelerated and shunted across the acreage. It slowed, scraping along the ground.
Time to get off.
He unwrapped his arms and let go of the chain. He hit the ground hard, letting out a cry of pain, but he continued to roll, just as his parents had taught him, until he came to a halt.
A clear blue sky spread out above him. The sun, although not hot, blazed brightly. Jack wanted to curl into a foetal position and sleep for the rest of his life. But he thought again of Scarlet and rose to his knees. He peeked over the high golden grass.
The enormous airship filled much of the field. It had made an untidy landing. The jagged hole had dealt it a mortal wound.
That’s Mr Doyle for you, he smiled. Always thinking.
A steamtruck screeched to a halt on a dirt road running alongside the field. Tall trees lined the property, partly obscuring the airship from the outside world. Jack knew what the enemy was about to do. They were going to transport Scarlet and Mr Harker on that vehicle.
Staying low, he scampered across the field. He hoped no-one was looking in his direction, otherwise they might see the wheat moving. Finally he made it to the edge of the tall grass and hurried across the dirt road.
Jack reached an overgrown hedge. Taking refuge, he looked back to the airship. It seemed to take them a long time to do anything. He checked his coat pockets. Good. He still had the picture of his parents, his compass and the other things Mr Doyle had given him. He donned the goggles and applied magnification.
The balloon was still deflating. People were evacuating the vessel to huddle about in groups. Two people were led from the ship wearing black hoods over their heads and with their hands tied.
Scarlet and Paul Harker!
Jack’s heart leapt into his throat. He would have to hide on the truck. But where?
Pocketing the goggles, he made his way along the untidy hedge. Reaching the rear of the vehicle, he kept close to the ground and peered under the truck. A big, self-contained wedge ran all the way under the vehicle.
He had never seen anything like it before, but that made no difference. There was no room to hide under it. He saw the feet of two men on the other side. The driver and a guard. A chimney poked into the air from the engine at the front. A two-man cabin sat behind it. The bed of the truck was a large empty box with a tarp at the back. It lay open and Jack glanced inside. Nowhere to hide in there, either.
There seemed to be only one place remaining.
On top of the truck, he thought. Or nowhere at all.
He climbed onto the truck as quietly as possible, reached up and gripped the top ledge. Taking a deep breath, he slid onto the roof. One sound and they would catch him. They might even shoot him.
He slithered along the roof, barely breathing. He heard the group from the airship heading in his direction. They were speaking that foreign lingo. What was it? German. A muffled cry came from the group, followed by the sound of a blow. Either Scarlet or Mr Harker must have protested and received a thump for it.
They drew closer and Jack felt the vehicle shift and shudder as people climbed in. The driver and his companion entered the front while others slid into the rear. There was more talking between those who were to be left behind. The steam engine chugged to life.
Jack wished he knew German. Then he would know what they were jabbering about.
The sun beat down on Jack as he gripped thin grooves in the metalwork running along the roof. The vehicle started moving, jolting along the uneven surface. The chimney was high enough so that most of the black smoke spewing from it shot straight into the air, but sometimes the breeze would send it barrelling into Jack’s face. He resisted the urge to cough.
The journey was much tougher than he had expected. He felt like an egg being tossed about in a saucepan of boiling water. His head kept on jolting against the hard metal. He wanted to let go and slide off the rear of the van. Anything would be better than this constant battering. Then he thought of Scarlet and Mr Harker. He was their only hope. Without him they might both die.
Occasionally he looked up. The vehicle stuck to country roads, avoiding towns. From the sun’s position in the sky, it appeared they were headed west.
<
br /> As the afternoon wore on, the strain on his arms grew worse. He had barely recovered from his adventure on the balloon. Now the pain in his shoulders was growing more unbearable by the second.
The sun dropped further towards the horizon as Jack felt the exhaustion setting in. He had no idea where they were. His whole body ached, starting from his fingers and working all the way out to his shoulders and back.
He couldn’t take it much longer.
Sweat dripped into his eyes as he remembered his father.
‘…must practise your movement again. There is no room for error…’
Jack hung on tighter.
‘…people in the crowd are paying for a spectacle… not for failure…’
Tears trickled down Jack’s face as he struggled to hold on. He took long, ragged breaths. A cloud of smoke wafted up his nose and he fought off the urge to vomit. This was a nightmare. When would the vehicle end its journey? And when it did, how would he contact Mr Doyle?
The truck slowed. Jack looked up. To his immense surprise he saw the ocean. The sun straddled a bank of clouds on the horizon. The vehicle was either stopping at a house on the coast or was meeting a boat.
Now the truck dipped and Jack slid forward. He fanned out again and tried to grip the grooves—but his fingers would not catch. The vehicle jolted and swerved. Jack’s nose collided with the roof.
‘Ooof,’ he grunted.
Pain exploded across his face as if he had been punched. Exhaustion had taken its toll. He couldn’t hang on.
Sweat dripped from every pore of his skin. His arms shook as trees left and right slapped at the roof. The vehicle headed down a dirt road to the ocean. When it reached the pebbles lining the seashore, Jack let out a gasp of relief. At least now the truck would stop and the kidnappers would start the next phase of their journey. Possibly he could smuggle himself aboard their boat, or find a local farmer who would contact the police.
