by H. L. Dennis
Brodie nodded.
‘Great. You can move that ruddy chest of drawers back where it was, Toots. I hurt my toe every time I come in here and surely I’m injured enough without being attacked by your furniture,’ muttered Hunter. ‘I’m not invincible, you know.’
Tusia paused. ‘Well, I’ll have to wait until one of you can help me lift the thing. I can’t do it on my own.’
Brodie swallowed a mouthful of chocolate. She eased herself down gently into the chair beside the door, wincing with the pain in her arm.
Tusia had just begun to repeat the statement in a high singsongy voice when Brodie stood up.
‘You all right, BB?’ Hunter said, ceasing his chewing with a look of concern. ‘You don’t look too good.’
Brodie pushed her hands against her lips and began to breathe quickly in and out.
‘You’re not having a panic attack, are you? Because they really are my speciality.’
Brodie was pacing backwards and forwards by the window.
‘OK, BB. Any time you want to explain what’s going on would be great because your rather odd behaviour reflects the actions of the two per cent of the population who are registered as clinically insane.’
‘I think we’re missing something.’
Hunter soothed his injured leg gently with his hand. ‘True, BB. We’re missing lots of things. Like a home now, and a purpose and something to work on.’
‘No! I mean about the phoenix. It doesn’t make sense, does it? To hide a box of ash and go to all the bother of writing a code to protect it.’
‘But he didn’t hide a box of ash, did he? Van der Essen put the code-book in the box and the fire in the
Pavilion in 1975 just burnt what was inside. Smithies went over that.’
‘But the box wasn’t in the Music Room, was it? That’s where the fire was.’
‘Maybe someone just hid the box in that attic after the fire.’
‘But why? What’s the point? Hiding the box if you know what’s inside is ruined.’
‘But your version sees Van der Essen hiding the box of ash himself and that’s even more nutty.’ Tusia was obviously struggling to keep up with Brodie’s train of thought.
‘Not nutty. Puzzling. But not nutty.’
Hunter frowned.
‘If Van der Essen hid the box of ash then that’s what he wanted us to find. Ash,’ said Brodie.
Tusia was beginning to look a little worried.
‘What I mean is, I don’t think the ash was all there was.’ She rubbed her temples with her fingers. ‘When I was in the Music Room with Friedman he said something about there being only one way out.’
‘And?’
‘And there wasn’t. One was hidden. Disguised. Like lots of places in that Pavilion, things are out of sight. The servants’ corridor, the secret tunnel, even the room in the sky.’
‘Look, Brodie,’ Tusia interrupted. ‘You’re tired. We’re all tired. We’re upset. Disappointed.’
Hunter was pulling a face. Brodie was obviously unnerving him.
‘Think about it,’ blurted Brodie, resuming her pacing with a vengeance. ‘There’s got to be a hidden answer. There’s just got to be.’ She stood still. She tightened her hands into fists with determination.
Hunter’s eyebrows creased in sudden understanding.
‘Finally,’ groaned Brodie.
‘But hold on,’ said Tusia, jumping up to stand. ‘You think we have to go all the way back to the Pavilion.’
‘No,’ said Brodie, full of confidence. ‘I think the answer’s right in front of us. A secret inside a secret.’ She laughed. ‘The very best type.’
Hunter swept his fingers through his hair decisively. ‘Let’s not panic about this. We just need to see the box and make sure.’
Brodie agreed. ‘We need to go and see Smithies.’
They staggered their way back across to the mansion, and hurried into the entrance hall. Miss Tandari was making her way across to the library. She waved when she saw them. ‘Recovered?’ she said softly.
‘No,’ blurted Brodie in a voice that was a little too loud and caused Miss Tandari to step back a pace. ‘That’s the point really. We haven’t.’
Miss Tandari looked confused. ‘It’s hardly been long, has it?’ she said defensively. ‘I think if you give it more time …’
‘We need Smithies.’
‘Well. It’s to be expected you’ll feel that way. After all, you’ve worked very closely with him and it’s understandable you’ll be attached to him. In times of crisis people often form links with people that stretch across times and generations …’
‘Miss Tandari,’ pleaded Brodie. ‘Listen! It’s about the phoenix. Not what we feel. We’ve got to see Mr Smithies. Urgently.’
Miss Tandari hesitated. ‘OK. OK. My mistake. He’s in the billiard room. I think he wanted to be alone. But if you come with me …’
Brodie called over her shoulder. ‘We know where it is, but come with us if you want to. We’ve got something exciting to say.’
The door to the billiard room swung open. Mr Smithies was standing at the window, his hands resting on the sill, his shoulders hunched. Brodie was suddenly nervous about troubling him, but he turned then and tried to organise his features into something he obviously hoped resembled a smile.
‘Ah. My merry band of secret breakers. Come to say goodbye? Really no need until Friday. I suggest until then you make good use of all Station X has to offer. I must say I’m saddened no one yet has ventured for a swim in our beautiful lake. I believe in the war years that was a particularly popular activity but perhaps people were more hardy then. Not spoilt by the luxury of central heating or electric blankets.’ He was talking far too quickly. Trying too hard to be jolly.
‘Mr Smithies,’ interrupted Brodie, beginning to fear no one would actually listen without first giving a lecture. ‘We’ve got to see the box from the Pavilion. It’s important.’
Smithies’ smile fluttered. ‘Of course it’s important, child,’ he said defensively. ‘It’s a beautiful relic. One that caused us a fair degree of work to find.’
‘But we’ve got to see it.’
Smithies held his hand out to calm them. ‘Can’t bear to admit it’s all over? Want one last look to reaffirm it all really happened?’
‘Something like that,’ Brodie pleaded.
Smithies led the way over to the high mantelpiece stretched across the fireplace. ‘I’m thinking,’ he said slowly, ‘perhaps we ought to pass it over to the British Museum. Probably best in the long run. Quite exquisite workmanship really.’
He offered the book-shaped box and Brodie took it. It was as she remembered. Ornate silver with golden firebirds on every side.
She lifted the lid and her fingers were dusted with ash.
She turned the box in her hand.
‘What are you looking for?’ Miss Tandari asked gently.
‘Don’t really know,’ Brodie answered. ‘Just something that’s not obvious.’
She slid her hand around the edge of the box, running her finger across a small opening for a key. But as the box was unlocked anyway she dismissed this, and cupped her palm across the lid. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Just – I was so sure. I thought we’d missed something.’
Smithies watched her. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘we imagine we have an answer when we don’t, Brodie.’ And the way his brow was furrowed reminded her how long he’d tried to solve this puzzle. Years he’d given to the quest of the unread code.
He took the box from her and stretched his fingers around the base. That was when she saw it. Yellowed and creased, the pointed edge of something sticking out from the join of the lid to the box.
‘Look,’ she breathed. ‘There! In the hinge!’
Smithies put the box carefully on to the baize of the billiard-table. Then he leant forward and jabbed the point of his finger at the protruding fragment.
‘Find something small. Something pointed,’ he instructed as t
he others crowded round.
Tusia rummaged in her blazer pockets and after discarding two leaflets on recycling, an aromatherapy lip balm and a stress pig that was looking decidedly battered, she produced a tiny screwdriver.
‘What?’ she said as Hunter grimaced at her. ‘I like to be prepared.’
With the screwdriver, Smithies carefully unfastened the lid hinge of the box. Then he set the lid aside. He pulled the fragment from the hinge. A yellowed piece of parchment curled like a tiny scroll.
‘Well?’ hissed Brodie, leaning so far forward her nose was nearly against the table. ‘What is it?’
Smithies stood back and smoothed the paper with the flat of his hand. Then his shoulders sank even lower, his eyes paled with obvious disappointment ‘It just says “EXCALIBUR”!’
Hunter sat with his back against the wall. Brodie presumed he’d bad memories of his last recuperation session on the couch and so had rejected the offer and taken to the floor. Brodie squeezed next to Tusia on the window seat.
‘Not really what I was expecting,’ Hunter said flatly.
Smithies shrugged. ‘I must agree. It does seem a little unnecessary for Van der Essen to have written the name of Arthur’s sword.’
‘Maybe he was just making sure we knew,’ offered Tusia.
Brodie fingered the locket hanging round her neck. ‘I still think we’re missing something.’
‘I think, BB,’ Hunter said matter-of-factly, ‘we may just have to admit that Van der Essen, really did just leave us a box full of ash. No more clues. No secrets. Just the remains of a fire and a phoenix that was never going to be reborn.’
Brodie rubbed her neck again.
There was a long tired silence. Not the sort of awkward quiet where you are waiting for someone to speak. A muted, painful acknowledgment there was nothing left to say.
Brodie gasped, pushed her hands against the seat and jumped to the ground.
‘Please,’ begged Tusia from the end of the window seat. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack. Will you stop with all the gasps and the jumping.’
‘Fire!’ Brodie yelled at the top of her voice.
Hunter scrabbled to his feet and Smithies’ glasses wobbled precariously on his nose.
‘Fire!’
‘Where? Where?’ Miss Tandari grabbed a billiard-cue from the table and lurched towards the glass-fronted alarm on the far wall. She swung the cue through the air towards the glass.
‘No. Wait!’ screamed Brodie.
Miss Tandari froze the swing and tottered. ‘You said “fire”!’
‘I did! I did!’ squealed Brodie.
‘So I should sound the alarm. Evacuate the premises. Lead people to their assembly points.’
‘I mean, we need fire. Not we’re on fire,’ Brodie yelped, wrestling the snooker cue from Miss Tandari’s hand and dropping it to the floor. ‘The paper,’ she yelped again. ‘It’s so obvious.’
‘Excuse me?’ begged Tusia.
‘OK,’ said Brodie, trying desperately to calm herself. ‘We find a box and we think the secret to reading MS 408 is hidden inside.’
Hunter was nodding frantically. ‘And?’
‘And then we look more carefully in the box we know was hidden in the Pavilion by a professor of codes … a very clever man … who spent ages trying to leave us perfect clues about where this code-book is.’
‘And?’ Mr Smithies was getting frantic now.
‘And, we’re supposed to believe this professor would very carefully hide a piece of paper in the box and just write the name of the sword that went with the scabbard.’
‘Excuse me. Does anyone else think she’s covering the blindingly obvious?’ Miss Tandari said rather meekly.
‘That’s the point,’ snapped Brodie. ‘Obvious! The message Excalibur is just too obvious. And you keep telling us this whole search is about looking beyond the obvious, don’t you? You remember Merlin said it to Arthur. In Malory’s poem. Everything’s been about more than the weapon.’
‘And?’
‘Van der Essen meant us to look beyond the sword.’
‘I just don’t follow, BB.’
‘The writing of the word “Excalibur” is what code-crackers call a piece of disinformation, isn’t it, Miss Tandari?’
Miss Tandari’s dark eyes were widening now. ‘Of course. Of course,’ she blurted. ‘Something written to throw us off track from the real message.’
Smithies’ grin at last was huge, sparkling in his eyes.
‘So where,’ begged Hunter, his exasperation stretching across his face, ‘is the real information?’
‘On the paper,’ Brodie said hotly.
She didn’t think it was possible for Hunter to look more confused.
‘That’s,’ said Brodie slowly, ‘why we need fire.’ She made her words clear and deliberate. ‘I think he must’ve used invisible ink. We’ll be able to read it if we heat the paper.’
Mr Bray stood patiently at the barrier in the arrivals hall, waiting for Aer Lingus flight 236 from Illinois. The line of passengers filing through in front of him looked particularly grumpy. The weather was not good and he supposed there’d been a fair amount of turbulence.
When George Fabyan III rounded the corner with his luggage trolley he was smiling broadly. Mr Bray was rather worried he’d be crushed in the generous bear hug offered.
‘So,’ boomed the visitor, as he followed Mr Bray towards the waiting taxi. ‘This really is the start of quite a neat adventure, my old friend.’
‘Not so much of the old.’ Mr Bray smiled back, tapping the American playfully on the arm. ‘I’m not much older than your grandfather was when I first met him.’
‘That’s practically ancient,’ the younger man replied, taking a pair of heavy black glasses from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and slipping them on. ‘Surely time to slow things down a bit.’
Mr Bray strode on purposefully. ‘Slow things down?’ he laughed back before sliding into the front seat of the waiting cab. ‘When life’s just getting interesting again? I don’t think so.’
Fabyan took a stick of gum from his pocket and slipped it into his mouth. ‘I like interesting.’
Miss Tandari and Smithies led the way. Hunter stumbled along supported by Brodie, and Tusia followed, mumbling and muttering as she walked.
They crashed into the morning room and Miss Tandari ran straight to the ironing-board in the centre of the room still set up for Steganography class.
They peered at the iron, waiting for it to heat up. A tiny wisp of steam rose from the triangular metal plate.
‘You should do it, Brodie,’ said Miss Tandari as the thermostat switch flicked to red to show the iron was ready. ‘Nice and easy. Smooth strokes, as even as you can.’
Smithies put the piece of paper flat on the board.
‘Ready?’ Brodie lifted the iron.
No one answered.
She eased the iron face smoothly across the paper. It curled with the heat. Curled and fell again like a phoenix rising in the flames. And as she moved the iron she thought of the old man who’d written the message and trusted them to find it. She thought of her grandfather and her mother …
Then she put down the iron on the edge of the board, lifted the paper and held it up to the light.
‘Well?’ demanded Hunter, stepping in so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. ‘What does it say?’
Smithies got Ingham to close the museum and then called the team together again in Hut 11. They sat, this time, around the long wooden table which had been carved with initials. Brodie traced her finger across the letters AB. The shape of them made her feel safe somehow.
Smithies laid out the tiny sheet of yellowed paper on the table.
‘Professor Van der Essen’s final message to us, which we’ve found thanks to Brodie,’ Smithies said slowly. ‘Contained as it was, in the cloak of invisible ink given life like the phoenix by the heat of the fire.’
He cleared his throat and began
to read. There were only five words:
‘Not exactly over-clear in its meaning, is it?’ whispered Hunter. ‘I mean, you’d think after going to all the trouble of hiding it and writing the codes, he’d give just a little more. It’s sort of like the KitKat of codes rather than a three-course meal.’
‘Do you ever think of anything other than your stomach?’ hissed Tusia.
‘What? I’m starving.’
‘Yes. Well,’ interrupted Smithies. ‘I can see it’ll be a testing puzzle. But not one we’ll fail. We just need to allow ourselves a little time to make sense of it. And that’s what we can work together to do,’ he said, his face breaking into the widest of smiles. ‘Not much of a lead, but it’s a start. We’ll take it methodically and word by word we’ll make sense of this final message.’ He giggled like a child just realising the presents left below the tree on Christmas morning were all for him. ‘You see what this means? We thought it was over, but it isn’t. We carry on. We do not give up on MS 408. We’re back in business, Veritas.’
Excitement bubbled in Brodie’s stomach. Only hours before it had been over. Everything. The team, the challenge. Now …
The door of Hut 11 clicked open.
Friedman stood in the doorway, his face flushed, eyes wild.
‘Friedman, my dear, dear friend,’ said Smithies. ‘Join us. Wonderful news.’
‘I can’t,’ muttered Friedman.
‘But we’ll keep you hidden. The authorities think the search is over. You’ll be safe here now. Come on.’
Friedman shook his head. ‘No, Smithies. My time has passed. We waited too long.’
‘What d’you mean?’
Friedman shook his head again. ‘For Veritas it doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course it matters,’ Smithies retorted. ‘Nothing matters more. You gave up your career for this code. Some gave up their lives. What could stop it from mattering?’
Friedman pointed his hand towards the mansion building. ‘Them,’ he said quietly. ‘Always them.’
Smithies’ eyes narrowed.
‘I was waiting at the station as we agreed. They’re on their way here. I came to warn you,’ Friedman said.
