The Curse of the Silver Pharaoh

by Pip Ballantine

  “Henry Talbot,” he said, an awkward smile flickering across his face. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Simmons.”

  This started off a wave of introductions. Verity could still note a cold glare in the blonde girl’s eyes as she introduced herself as Suzanne Celestene. Her gaze took careful measure of Verity.

  “Julia,” blurted the last student, the curly haired Highlander fascinated by legend and lore. “Julia McTighe.”

  As soon as she mentioned her name, she got everyone’s attention. The McTighe family was an honourable one, or at least it had been until Hamish, the current lord, began creating fantastic, insane devices. Julia hung her head, and wouldn’t meet anyone’s eye. Verity understood why. McTighe creations were either loved or loathed, depending on the level of injury suffered by one’s acquaintances.

  “Well, well,” Suzanne said, cutting the silence as if it were an infection in need of immediate attention. “This little stay at academy just got interesting, now didn’t it?”

  It was a little bit of a surprise to find a McTighe heading towards a school dedicated to the sciences, but Verity grasped Julia was taking a very bold step indeed. She would either be coddled within an inch of her life, or ignored completely. Such bravery from the aristocracy was not something Verity would have expected, and she immediately wanted to reward it. Since no one else was saying anything she decided to confront the elephant in the room.

  “Is Lord McTighe your father?” Verity asked, keeping her voice soft.

  Julia’s remarkable blue eyes locked with Verity’s in shock, and the answer popped out of her mouth. “No, in fact he’s my uncle.” The undrawn breaths of those around her were quite satisfying. Julia’s dawning smile did hint at the bravery within. “Lord McTighe doesn’t have any children of his own, and I am his younger brother’s only child. So they decided if I was to inherit the estate...and the business... I should have some kind of training.” She sat taller in her seat. “My uncle has faced some prejudice because he’s entirely self-taught.”

  Verity smiled at her. “I have heard he is a remarkable man.”

  “Remarkable his devices are not outlawed by Her Majesty.” Now holding court, Suzanne elevated her chin slightly. “McTighe is a more of a tolerated nuisance in the scientific community than a remarkable man, so my father says. The mad Scot has enjoyed his modest successes, of course, but what he tends to create you could hardly call practical, now could you?”

  “You mean like the timepiece hanging off your waistcoat?” Verity asked, motioning to a fob sporting a fine etching of what the children recognised instantly as Eilean Donan. The ticking in her head was very much in tune with a McTighe creation. “Or do you mean the mechanised horse currently taking us to school?” Verity cast her eyes to Julia and added, “I could not help but notice a small crest from your family emblazoned on the mount’s right flank.”

  Julia smiled. “Uncle Hamish is quite proud of his ætherequus. Fashioned it after the Clydesdale.”

  Suzanne let out a very unladylike snort and cast her interest out of the farthest window. Now lacking in Suzanne’s attention, Julia gave Verity a little nod of appreciation.

  The carriage, almost on cue, lurched from the paved road, onto a side spur. They left the smooth well-travelled road, and turned onto one purely made of dirt. It had no mile markers or even any signpost.

  Verity’s brow furrowed, but she leaned back in the seat. Perhaps the school was tucked away out of sight? The file Thorne provided said Miss Delancy set up her academy on her family estate.

  The children were thrown aloft above their seats as they hit a large pothole in the road. Suzanne let out a shriek rivalling the escape of steam from the mechanical horse, which was having difficulty navigating the terrain.

  Verity realised there were some advantages to flesh and bone horses, but this one was attached to a carriage that regularly made this journey. Glancing across to Emma and Henry, she held onto the strap hanging down by the window, while with the other hand made a circle with her thumb and ring finger. The signal for danger.

  Emma licked her lips and nodded. Henry inclined his head slightly towards the door. Should we get out of here?

  One glance outside told Verity that would have been a foolish idea. They were in the Yorkshire wilds, a rugged landscape Heathcliff and Catherine from that Bronte story would have easily inhabited, and it was a long walk back to St Austell. The glowering sky above assured they wouldn’t be able to make it back to town before nightfall. Then there was the loss of their one chance to enter the school, as well as having to abandon all the devices they made, to consider.

  Verity shook her head, no more than an inch. The other occupants of the carriage were too busy to notice such a small gesture, considering they were engrossed in holding on as best they could. Emma’s free hand hovered over the concealed dagger in her boot. Her ability to sense danger was impeccable, but she would stay put until Verity or Henry gave the signal. Besides, nothing at present made a good target.

  They were not the only ones with the dawning realisation of danger.

  Julia McTighe pushed her hair out of her face, and muttered something in Gaelic. “Mo Chreach! I’ll just walk there, because for sure this ride will break out necks.”

  Then, with a sudden impressive ferocity, Julia gave the carriage door a hard, swift kick with both her feet. This girl refused to be an example of limp aristocracy. The kick should have possessed enough power to rip the door off its hinges, yet the hatch did not yield an inch.

  “Locked!” Julia said, giving the door another hard kick just to be sure. “Why have they locked us in?”

  The bouncing of the carriage made it hard to give a very conclusive answer, but Verity was fairly sure it could not be a very good sign. The question remained, was this measure to keep them in? Or to keep something out?

  Chapter Five

  Leader of Less

  Christopher always dreamed of getting out of London. Since he’d been born in a cramped tenement not far from the river, a child of the Thames in the truest sense, anywhere else must be better he’d surmised.

  He had been wrong as it turned out.

  As the five youngest members of the Seven were carried along in a little trap driven by Mrs Summerson, over Bodmin Moor towards the farm house Thorne arranged for them, Christopher began to feel very, very small.

  The landscape was huge, stretching into the horizon, seeming to have no end. No buildings broke up the endless display of rolling hills and dangerous rocks. The wind felt like it might just pick him up and throw him into the abyss. A dark grey sky hung over them, intending to crush them all without even noticing. His mind couldn’t quite grasp there was so much space, and they were the only humans to exist in it. It was as if the Empire died and left them alone.

  His fingers clenched so tight onto the edge of the cart his palms grew sore. Christopher did not want to communicate his concerns to the others, but he glanced across at Colin, Liam, and Jeremy anyway.

  They were wide-eyed, and despite their usual bravado were actually covertly huddling close to each other. All little scavengers of London, animals born to it, were now thrown into a new environment altogether, terrifying in its desolation. Christopher agreed to follow Verity’s call, since it seemed a great adventure, but now he was regretting the choice.

  Christopher kept his gaze on the back of Summerson’s head, as he whacked his knuckles three times against the wooden planks underneath him. After a few seconds, three knocks answered. Jonathan was still beneath the wagon, still out of sight. This offered a cold comfort to him.

  Suddenly the wheel of their cart hit a rock, and they were all bounced several inches out of their seats. Christopher couldn’t help but let out a choice word...or maybe two.

  Mrs Summerson glanced over her shoulder at the boys. Her dark eyes were warm and kindly, and that unsettled him to no end. “Now then, just a little bump. These roads aren’t often travelled.”

  “Bloody hell,” Lia
m said, pushing his brown hair out of his face and glaring at her. “My arse is sore.”

  The other four boys laughed, but their “caretaker” didn’t seem so amused. She was a round woman, nearly old enough to be someone’s grandmother. Under her seat was a long bag Christopher knew immediately contained at least one rifle. What Christopher would have given to be able to rummage around in there.

  Mrs Summerson didn’t look like the type to share though. Instead she jerked the reins, and snapped them over the back of their little black pony, setting them off at an even faster pace.

  So it’s like that, is it, Christopher thought to himself. I gotcha there.

  The boys all grimaced as the bouncing increased, but none of them would comment on it. The Seven long ago learned to ignore the cruelty of adults.

  They reached a branch in the torturous road, only to turn onto an even worse one. It could hardly be called a road. Barely a path, and even Mrs Summerson was forced to take it slowly. Thankfully it was a short.

  Up ahead, against the bleak horizon emerged a collection of low stone buildings. Christopher was no expert on farm buildings, but these had the air of things abandoned.

  “This your kip then?” he asked Summerson.

  She let out a short laugh. “Aye, that it is. We’re not used to guests, but it has been prepared for you lot.”

  Colin let out a snort. “Bleedin’ hell, I’s seen workhouses more ‘ospitable than this!”

  Summerson was developing a thicker skin because she totally ignored his comment. Instead she drew their little cart up to what might be kindly described as the courtyard. In front was the house, with its sagging thatched roof, to the right was a crumbling barn, and to the left a kind of lowly fenced pen.

  “Pigs!” Liam yelled and leapt out of the cart before Christopher could stop him.

  The little brown-haired boy couldn’t keep away from animals. Once he brought home a nest of rats to the house. Even Verity had not been able to say no to his keeping them, though when grown she made him return them to the wild.

  Now, Liam’s got his dander up over pigs. Christopher began to think wistfully of their home in the half-finished safe-house.

  Mrs Summerson leapt down from the cart—spry for such an old woman—and made to go after Liam, already up to his arms in mud, patting a very large black pig. Christopher caught her elbow. “Don’t bother, he’s happier with them. Like a pig in muck, you could say.”

  The woman glanced between them, but eventually let out a sigh of pure exasperation. “Fine then. I’ll draw a bath for him.”

  Christopher shrugged. “Mum, our home is London. We’re used to the smell.”

  Summerson fixed him with a glare. “Lad, you may have smelled some foul things in the streets of London, but they’re a bouquet of roses compared to pig shit.” She nodded to Liam. “Let’s leave him there for now, go inside, and draw that bath.”

  Christopher jerked his head towards the farmhouse. The old biddy might think she was in charge, which was alright; Colin, Jeremy and Jonathan knew who was the scurf around here. When Colin and Jeremy scooted past him and followed Summerson, he motioned for Jonathan to make himself scarce in the barn. They would pull a Comedy of Errors once Summerson went to bed.

  Christopher stepped into the welcoming warmth of the farmhouse and immediately took back at least one unkind thought about how Agent Thorne ran an operation. The outside of the farm might look like it was about to be swallowed up by the moor, but the inside was remarkably cheery. A fire steadily crackled in the wide hearth with a pot hung over it. A smell tickled Christopher’s nose. Potatoes. There were also smells of chicken and rosemary in the air. Summerson appeared from a back room carrying a pair of empty buckets.

  Colin was already poking around looking at the tins and bags which would have done a family of ten proud in the East End. Summerson, after setting down the empty buckets, slapped his hand away. “I’m taking care of the food. All you lot need to do, according to Agent Thorne, is just behave yourselves.”

  Colin’s hand tightened into a fist, and it was only when Christopher waved him away that their ‘caretaker’ didn’t end up with a bruised stomach. The child might not be tall, but he knew how to hit adults where it hurt.

  Jeremy burst into a laughing fit until he noticed Summerson wasn’t smiling. She actually meant it.

  “Wot?” Colin said, glancing at Christopher. “We’re just going to sit here while Henry, Verity and Emma get all the fun? Sod that.”

  “I understand what Agent Thorne thinks is best for us,” Christopher stated, puffing out his chest. He’d seen Henry do this when arguing with Verity. He would win arguments doing this. Sometimes. “We got family in this caper, and we need to do a bit of field work for Her Majesty.”

  “Is that so, young man?” Mrs Summerson asked. “Well, I will have you know Agent Thorne made his wishes quite clear. You lot are to get rest and stay put. If trouble is sighted from here, as the academy is just over the moors, you all are to contact him and go in with the Ministry. Otherwise, enjoy the country air.” She motioned to the door. “Or like your friend—Liam, is it? —embrace life on the farm.”

  “It’s not how the Seven work.”

  Summerson’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly Christopher needed to piss. “Ignoring Agent Thorne’s request is not how I work.”

  Christopher was about the same height as the lady, but either she was growing in front of him or he was shrinking. Whatever the case, he was not going to let this simple country bumpkin get the better of him.

  “So,” Mrs Summerson began, her gaze never leaving Christopher’s, “I have a chicken roasting and some potatoes as sides. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds right good there, mum!” Colin returned. Christopher could hear whispering, and he broke the standoff with Summerson to see Jeremy muttered something to Colin. “Jeremy was wonderin’ if’n he could go for a walk after supper.” Jeremy tapped on Colin’s arm and whispered something. Colin nodded, and then added, “He is plenty hungry, but on his second helping he likes to walk and eat. Helps with digestion.”

  “I’m sure the fresh country air will help as well,” Summerson said, turning to the hearth where she began serving up potatoes into a low, wide bowl. After setting a fourth bowl, she started slicing up one of the two chickens. “Agent Thorne has told me of your tragic tale, children, and it does break my heart.”

  “Oy, we’re not some sort of charity,” Christopher snapped. He took in a deep breath as Summerson fixed him with a stare. “What I mean is we take care of our own.”

  “Of that I have no doubt,” she said gently.

  The door swung open, and Christopher’s stomach roiled. Watching his mates go pale at the stench all around assured him they were all smelling the same thing. Perhaps Summerson was right about the country in this respect. While there were some pungent smells coming off the Thames, the scent of pig was a bridge too far.

  “Right, you,” Summerson stated, freezing the mud-and-shit covered Liam in his tracks, “progress straight to that room. Do not even think of going anywhere else but there. A hot bath waits for you. Strip. Soak. And then, soap.” Liam went to open his mouth. “Did I stutter?”

  With a final glance to the others, Liam trudged silently to the back room.

  The smell lingered.

  Swallowing back the bile in his mouth, Christopher said, “If Liam is this taken by the pigs, you might need to have a few of those baths ready to go.”

  “You may be right about that, Christopher,” Summerson agreed, continuing to slice the chicken. She held up two bowls and motioned to Colin and Jeremy. “Here you are, boys. There are two pints on the table for you as well.”

  Colin and Jeremy sprinted for the two bowls and shuffled over to the table where pints of beer, as promised, waited for them. Summerson then offered a bowl to Christopher and led their way to where the boys sat.

  “I know this is going to be different from what you’re accustomed to,” she said over the rapi
d eating of the two younger boys. Christopher was trying to keep in mind Verity’s manners, and tried to eat the potatoes slowly, over many bites. It was a challenge, though, as the food was so damn good. “I have been given a charge, and I keep my promises to Agent Thorne. He’s a good man.”

  The boys continued to suck down the succulent supper, Colin pausing only to belch. Christopher was surprised the windows hadn’t rattled in response to it. Stuffing a small potato in his mouth, Jeremy jumped to his feet and went to the kettle over the hearth where he fished out three potatoes. He then ripped off a leg and carved off a few slices of breast for the new dish. Seemingly satisfied with the second supper he had prepared, Jeremy crossed the house to remove a blanket from one of the chairs by the hearth. It appeared to devour him as he wrapped himself within it.

  Jeremy just reached the front door when Summerson spoke up. “Lad, you’re going to want to grab a pair of Starlights for yourself.”

  Next to the door were two sets of pegs, the bottom row reserved for coats and cloaks. Along the top row were pairs of Starlight Goggles. At a glance, they did not look as advanced as the latest generation Agent Thorne would occasionally have on hand when working at night; but it was unexpected to find two sets hanging casually by the door.

  “You may be used to night time in the City, but you’re in the country now. Without those you won’t see your hand in front of your face.” Summerson chuckled as she popped a bit of chicken in her mouth. “If you don’t watch your step out there, you might be enjoying that evening walk in the pig pen.”

  Christopher gave Jeremy a nod, and Jeremy set the dinner aside to slip the Starlights across his eyes. He then picked up the dish intended for his brother and stepped out into the night.

  “Not a bad habit to practice,” the country lady commented. “Especially here.”

  “The fresh air, you mean?” Christopher asked.

  “That, and a good day’s work.”

  The fork stopped just shy of his mouth. The chicken had been amazing. Right up to this point. “Work?”