by Brad R. Cook
CHAPTER 3
AGENTS OF THE QUEEN
“Ow.” My shoulder banged into the plush, burgundy-velvet interior and I clung to the carriage’s brass handle as we tore around a cobblestone corner on the outskirts of London. The chugging engine behind me roared like a trumpeting elephant. “Does he always drive like this?”
“Finn was thrilled when I converted the carriage. He never liked horses.”
“Oh.” I stared at the baron who sat perfectly centered, with the small dragon perched on his shoulder as though it was a pleasant Sunday drive. The delighted cheers of the mad driver made me wonder if I would lose my dinner before I met the queen.
As we rumbled round a corner, I muscled to remain upright. “What about my father?”
The baron said nothing. He pulled a braided cord which rang a bell beside the driver.
Adults never listened.
The carriage stopped in front of a row house with a large red door carved with a rose motif and inlaid with gold. But this wasn’t Buckingham Palace. The Irishman leapt from his perch and opened the carriage, holding his hat to the side as he bowed.
The baron stepped out of the carriage, and I shouldered my bag, jumped out, and ran after him, not wanting to be locked in this death trap any longer. I once saw a steam car in New York, but with Finn as the driver, the baron’s steamcarriage was like a train in desperate need of a track.
I followed the baron to a bookcase in the basement. The nobleman twisted the spearhead on the statue of a knight locked in a desperate struggle with a dragon. A click was all I heard, and the shelf slid back to reveal a hidden hallway. “A secret passage,” I gasped.
The damp, musty air drifting in offended my nose. I rushed forward through the narrow tunnel stretching into darkness and saw a sleek, streamlined metal bullet with windows along the side. Metal wires reached to the ceiling like an insect’s antenna.
“Why only one train car?” I asked.
“It’s an electric trolley, invented last year by your countryman, Thomas Edison.”
My shoulders shrugged up against my cheeks. “Never heard of him.”
“Her majesty has, she wanted a private transport for the royal family and her agents.”
Even though the underground trolley sat still, it looked liked it was moving. I wondered where the train engine connected, and couldn’t even see latches for the other cars.
I stepped onto the trolley. Trimmed with gold and decorated with elaborate curled detailing, it was certainly outfitted for royalty. The seats, arranged in two semi-circles, faced either direction and had been covered in plush blue fabric. Now this was how someone should arrive at a palace. We sat and the trolley car sped through the circular brick tunnel snaking underneath London.
I scooted back against the velvet cushions. “Where’s the driver?”
“A central operator controls them all.”
“Oh.” I wanted to ask more, but then I saw the dust on my uniform. I tried to brush it off, but the dirt was caught in the wool fibers and wasn’t coming out anytime soon. “I really wish I could have changed. I’m not dressed to meet Queen Victoria.”
The baron smiled. “You won’t be meeting her Highness; she has more important matters that require her attention.”
My gaze shifted to the windows. “Of course.” I tried not to sound disappointed, but I had really wanted to meet the queen. She probably only ever saw aristocrats.
“She did send me to save you, and you should be grateful she did.”
“I am, but my dad wishes you’d gotten there sooner.” I wish you’d gotten there sooner. My face pressed against the window as the wall rushed by in a reddish blur. “Where are we going?”
“To my place in London. You’ll be safe there.”
The trolley car stopped beside a brick platform. The royal coat of arms–a quartered shield flanked by a crowned lion and a chained unicorn–marked a lone wooden door. I followed the baron through a long hallway lined with nondescript doors. Finally, we stopped in front of one labeled three twenty-one.
Removing a key from an inner vest pocket, the baron unlocked the door. We climbed several flights of dark, cavernous stairs that echoed with every step. The door at the top led to a small cupboard. The nobleman pressed a button on the floor with his boot. The door opened into a kitchen and a false wall slid over the passage.
“Wait for me in the dining room.” The baron pointed across the hall as Rodin flew off his shoulder.
I walked into a lavish room decorated with curled, gilded detailing. An elaborate microscope projector sat on one end of the table and a folding screen on the other. I had only seen this type of equipment in class, and now I wanted one of my own. The urge to reach out and fiddle with it overtook me, but I hesitated; everything looked expensive and rare. I never liked rooms you weren’t supposed to touch.
A man in a fine suit entered carrying a briefcase. His sunken eyes were shadowed by dark circles. He didn’t look well, but carried himself like so many in this country–with stern resolve.
The baron said, “Alexander Armitage, may I present Lord Marbury, another agent of Her Royal Highness. We’re both Old Etonians.”
That didn’t surprise me; it seemed like every nobleman had attended Eton College.
“Thank you, Maximilian.” Lord Marbury set his brown leather briefcase down on the table. He turned to me. “May I say, I am sorry to hear about your father.”
The nobleman leaned over and shook my hand. His weak grip was one my father would have railed him for; he thought a handshake should say something.
“Thank you, but where was he taken and what are you doing to save him?”
Lord Marbury’s haunting expression made me wiggle in my skin. The lord turned to the baron. “Were there any issues?”
I dropped onto one of the straight-backed wooden chairs. “I’ll say…”
The baron silenced me with a stern gaze. “There were four members of the Knight of the Golden Circle; one of them had an animatronic arm and a bronze-covered face. I believe he was American. They addressed him as Colonel Hendrix.”
“He had a southern accent,” I said.
“That fits the rumors of a former Confederate soldier recently brought over from the states,” Lord Marbury said.
I fell back into the chair and gripped my shoulders. A metal monster and an American. Did my father know him from before? Is that why we’re in England instead of back home?
Lord Marbury unsnapped the brass fittings on his briefcase. He removed old parchment held loose in a thick wooden cover bound by braided leather cords. A heavily worn insignia etched on a bronze plaque sat in the center of the cover. “Do you know what your father was working on?”
“He taught languages, all the dead ones that no one speaks anymore.”
“He also translated for her majesty. That’s why he was given the post at Eton.” The baron’s stern tone reminded me I was among superiors.
Lord Marbury turned on the microscope projector and adjusted the brass lens housing to its broadest setting. A bright light cast its glow on the unfolded screen. He removed the bronze plaque and braided leather cord, then placed a page under the projector. “Is this what your father was translating?”
Rodin flew in and perched on the table. Bathed in bright light, his dramatic shadow arced across the screen until shooed away by the baron.
I studied the image and the ache in my heart returned. “Yes, he was reading it when I found him after Quiet Hour.”
The baron’s tone lowered. “Alexander, your father was kidnapped because there are people who want him to translate those ancient languages. They will keep him safe, which gives us the opportunity to rescue him.” He walked over to the Waterford decanter and poured the amber liquid into a glass. “I assure you, retrieving him is our highest priority.”
I sprang up. “I want to help!”
Lord Marbury snapped his briefcase shut and looked at me with an air of dismissal. “You will return to Eton and co
ntinue your studies.”
“So why is this destruction on Malta so important to you? What was my father doing? What are you involved in?”
The baron choked on his surprise. “You can read that?”
“My father’s been teaching me dead languages since I was five.”
Lord Marbury and the baron looked at each other, and I lifted my chin, the pain in my heart subsiding. Maybe they’d let me come along after all.
“This is a copy of the one they stole. It was made in 1581 by an agent of Queen Elizabeth.” Lord Marbury’s gaze burned right through me. “Can you finish the translation?”
“Sure.” I walked toward the screen and ran my hand over the image. “This line is about an expedition to colonize the Island of Malta. That’s in the Mediterranean Sea, right?”
The baron smiled. “Yes it is, very good Alexander. Can you read more?”
I ran my finger back and forth to keep track of the sentence. “They wanted a new city…for trade…no, to conquer North Africa. They found… cities in ruin…that people had lived in before but were wiped out.” I stepped back and cocked my head. “I’m not sure about this next part. The people stopped a great evil … four … four horsemen and hid their secret … the rest is missing.”
Lord Marbury asked with a twinge of fear, “Did you just say four horsemen?”
I leaned back and nodded. “It’s probably just imagery. It’s two thousand years too soon to be the Bible.”
The baron nodded. “Her Majesty was right to put her faith in the Armitages. So Malta is where they are heading.” He walked up and placed his hand upon my shoulder. “You’ll stay here this night; it will be safer than Eton.”
I didn’t know what else to do, but maybe I’d wake up in the morning and this would all be over.
The baron turned toward the hall. “My dear do come in, it’s rude to lurk outside rooms where gentlemen are conversing.”
A young woman stepped into the doorway. Auburn hair fell past her shoulders, but was pulled back from her face with a ribbon I could see trailing over her shoulder. A locket hung around her neck on a silver chain. She wore the high collar and long skirt popular with the noble women of London, but lacked their usual docile expression. She nodded to Lord Marbury but her eyes widened when she spotted me. She was so beautiful. I couldn’t stop staring. I turned away before anyone could note my fascination.
Her soft voice carried an accent like a sweet melody. “Father, I was not lurking, mere curiosity drew me.”
“Genevieve, Master Alexander shall be staying the night. Mrs. Hinderman has already prepared the Blue Room, please escort our guest there.”
Genevieve bowed and I followed her out of the room. She led me to the second floor. Trailing her, the smell of rose petals caused my mind to slip. I studied the way her hair brushed against her back as I fidgeted with the strap of my bag.
Once on the second floor her demeanor changed. No longer did she float, there was hardness in her steps and she appeared annoyed. “Did you hear him? I was not lurking. How dare he say such a thing in front of—” She stopped and turned to face me. “I am sorry about your father.”
The words stuttered out of my mouth. “T-thank you.” Smooth, real smooth, why don’t I just spill something and fall down while I’m making impressions.
“It’s Alexander, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my father is sort of obsessed with the Greeks. He has high aspirations. I’m surprised my middle name isn’t ‘The Great.’”
She laughed and I smiled. Maybe she wasn’t like the other nobles.
We reached the end of the hall and entered the Blue Room. It was indeed a blue room. Dark blue paper with gold accents covered the walls. The ceiling had been painted a lighter blue and the four-post wooden bed was covered in a blue spread; even the paintings depicted great ships or seaside landscapes. I couldn’t escape the blue. The only thing not blue was me.
She motioned to a braided cord hanging by the bed. “Ring the bell for Ms. Hinderman if you need anything.”
I nodded.
Genevieve paused by the door. “I’m certain he’ll find your father. We won’t get to know the details, but my father has never failed her majesty.”
I tried to smile, but the ache in my heart returned with a vengeance.
CHAPTER 4
LIFE AT ETON
A shrill voice jarred me awake as Mrs. Hinderman said, “Good morning, Master Armitage.”
Light stung my eyes as she threw open the curtains. I rubbed the sleep away and Mrs. Hinderman stood at the end of the blue bedspread.
What could she want? I grumbled, but her smile grew.
“I’ve cleaned your school uniform, and breakfast will be served momentarily.”
“I’ll be down in a moment.”
The hem of her long skirt brushed the floor as Mrs. Hinderman swept out of the room. “Don’t be long.”
I struggled to get my school uniform on, as I did every day. It was stiff, it was tight, and once bound in all the layers I could hardly move.
Genevieve opened the door and I snapped up. “Mrs. Hinderman asked me to bring you to breakfast.”
I pulled at the white bow-tie and starched collar. “Thanks, I’ll be there as soon as I can breathe.”
She waved my hand away. “Stop tugging. You’ll tear off your buttons and wrinkle it.”
“My father said it was like a suit of armor, but it’s not, feels more like a strait jacket.”
Her cute little chuckle, like a cooing bird, drew all my insides up into my throat, choking my words.
I cleared my throat, forcing everything back into place. “Do you think the baron will find my father today?”
“I hope so. Maybe by the time you return from Eton, he’ll have news.”
I wanted to believe her, but my thoughts shifted to the teasing that was certain to come from the aristocratic bullies at school. I heard their annoying voices already. “I’m not looking forward to my classes.”
Genevieve stepped back. “Why not?” her eyes grew and held a glimmer of surprise.
Had I said something wrong? My foot hit the floor. How could I not admit that the noble kids would tease me? “Umm…”
Her hand glided over the window sill. “I would be ecstatic if I could go to Eton.”
“Where do you go to school?” I asked. Hopefully we wouldn’t go back to subjects I’d rather not explain.
“I don’t go to school. I have a tutor.”
“That is so much better than school.”
Her hands clenched in fists and she stomped her foot. “I only get to study what my father decides, and he’s deemed certain subjects inappropriate for a lady. It’s frustrating.”
My shoulders slumped. I’d upset her. “Sorry, I didn’t know you couldn’t go.”
Of course there were no girls at Eton, just the future aristocratic leaders of Britain, and me.
We didn’t say a word on the way down to breakfast. Genevieve held her lip between her teeth and her gaze fell far beyond the walls. My thoughts drifted to my father, my joints stiffened with every step, and my heart slipped deeper in my chest. Where was he? Was he alright?
The juice, eggs, fruits, pastries, and bread overwhelmed me with choices, delicious smells, and the tastiest treats I’d had since arriving in London.
I devoured the pastries and fruit like I’d forgotten how to use a fork.
Mrs. Hinderman took away my plate and said, “You look very dapper, Master Armitage. Let’s keep it that way.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I managed a smile. “Where is the baron?”
The elderly lady supported her back with her hand. “Oh, he left with the rising sun. Didn’t say where he was traveling, but I’m certain he’s doing all he can to find your father.”
I nodded and my smile stretched across my cheeks as I wiped my face. I could suffer through the day if my father would be waiting when I returned. Even with his strict manner and emphasis on my studies, he was my father. I w
anted him back safe and sound.
I stepped toward the front door. Mrs. Hinderman held my leather bag. She placed it over my shoulder and kissed my head. “Now you have a good day at Eton, pay attention, and put this business out of your head for a while.”
How could I forget? My head shrank into my shoulders to avoid her, but no one had been so tender since my mother’s passing. Mrs. Hinderman’s bright smile reminded me of a grandmother. “I’ll try.”
“Finn will take you to school and bring you home.” She gripped my shoulders. “The baron was very clear that you should not go with anyone but Finn. It’s for your safety, do you understand?”
I said, “Yes,” but that was before I’d thought about the question: Was I in danger? Would the men in long black coats come back? My legs twitched as if electricity pulsed through my veins. The baron wouldn’t let me go to Eton if it weren’t safe. If I keep repeating that, maybe it’ll be true.
Finn sat on the driver’s perch of the steamcarriage. I nodded and stepped inside. Soon the carriage belched white smoke and cruised down the cobblestone streets.
The world raced by and I tried to remain upright as the baron had the day before. I finally had what I wanted, to be on my own, free from my father’s stern looks. Now, though, all I wanted was to be forced to read some ancient Greek text.
The carriage stopped before a red brick building. Lighter colored stones formed patterns while black segmented rainspouts climbed the walls. The old building had an eerie look, brightly colored by a morning rain. I opened the door and joined the stream of boys in black coats and white ties that filed into through the main door.
Finn called from the carriage, “Try and have a good day, kid.”
With a nod I turned and walked into Eton, lost in a world blurred by tears.
As I passed through the colonnade of one building, I saw the shattered window of my father’s office across the courtyard. Its jagged edges mirrored my world, and just like that window, I couldn’t put the pieces back together. Two days ago, my biggest concern was homework, but now fear for my father crushed my shoulders and weighted down my back. With hunched shoulders, I found my way to class, without even knowing how I’d gotten there. I stepped into my school and all eyes turned toward me, their questioning gazes like arrows piercing my heart.
