McElderry raked his fingers through his beard and took in the panorama before him. ‘There’s a story from ancient Greece,’ he began, ‘about the god Zeus. He released two eagles: one flew east and the other went west.’ The professor spread his arms wide. ‘They flew clear round the globe and where they met’—McElderry brought his palms together with a sharp clap—‘marked the centre of the world.’
‘Looks like you’re the centre of someone’s world, Gerald,’ Sam said.
Ruby’s eyes scanned the length of the room. ‘Is this what they mean when they say the writing’s on the wall?’
Gerald took a step inside. ‘I couldn’t tell you who half my family was,’ he said. ‘How can Green know so much about me?’ More importantly, Gerald thought, why would he care?
Gerald crossed to the photograph. He saw a boy with a bewildered expression on his face. He stared at the hole between his eyes, its edges burnt brown and flaking. His fingers strayed to his head to the smooth gap flanked by his eyebrows. Had Sir Mason Green actually branded his face? He looked at the two names above his photograph. His mother Vi on the left, his father Eddie on the right.
Gerald hadn’t seen his parents in weeks—not since he inherited his great aunt Geraldine’s fortune. The last he’d heard from his mother was when she telephoned from the Archer island in the Caribbean. She’d spent the previous week aboard the luxury Archer motor yacht with its helicopters, jet skis and mini-submarine.
‘Been keeping well, dear?’ she’d said.
‘You mean since the insane billionaire tried to kill me?’
‘Try not to exaggerate, dear. It’s irritating.’
His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from Ruby.
‘Come look at this, Gerald. These might be yours.’
She was peering at some documents on Green’s desk. Three opened envelopes rested on a pile of newspaper clippings.
‘Seen these before?’ she asked.
Gerald glanced over his shoulder. The inspector was going through the cabinets on the opposite side of the room. Sam was chatting to Lethbridge by the family tree and the professor was busy flipping through the contents of the bookcases. Fry was looking at the photo of Gerald, a bemused smile on his face.
Gerald picked up the envelopes—one had the word ‘Fraternity’ on the front and another had ‘Family Tree’, both in his great aunt’s handwriting. The third had a line of doodles—the number 10, a circle with a line through it, a Y, an arrow and a triangle. All three were empty, sliced open at the top with razor precision.
‘These are the envelopes that my great aunt left me,’ he said. ‘The ones that were stolen from her house.’ Gerald had thought he’d never see them again. Together with a letter from Geraldine, they were the only clues to what Sir Mason Green was up to. They’d been stolen by Green’s enforcer, a cadaverous psychopath whom Gerald and the Valentines called the thin man. The last time they saw him he was screaming for his life from the middle of a flaming wheel as it rolled down a hill and into the night. Gerald tried to focus. It had been a busy couple of weeks.
Sam looked over Gerald’s shoulder.
‘That must be how Green got so much detail about your relatives,’ he said, pointing to the envelope marked Family Tree. ‘What was in the other ones?’
‘I never got the chance to look.’ Gerald glanced around again for the inspector, then slipped the envelopes into his backpack.
Sam lifted the stack of news clippings, revealing the surface of the desk. There was a large sheet of glass on the top and sandwiched underneath it was a map. Gerald took one look and called out, ‘I think you’d all better see this.’
Professor McElderry let out a snort as he walked across from the bookcases. ‘That cheeky beggar has lifted half my library on Greek and Roman mythology,’ he grumbled. ‘Can’t imagine how I didn’t notice the books were missing.’
Inspector Parrott joined them at the desk. ‘All right, what seems to be—’ He stopped mid-sentence.
Coloured lines sprawled across the glass, marking out a tangle of paths across the map. A box of marker pens sat at one end of the desk and judging by the smudge marks, the lines had been drawn, wiped off and re-drawn a number of times.
Blue, red and green paths spread across the map and converged on a central point.
‘Are you getting this down, Lethbridge?’ The inspector glared at the constable. ‘I assume you’ve got a new notebook?’
Lethbridge fumbled in his back pocket, wincing as he removed a crisp new police-issue notebook.
‘Still a bit sensitive back there, are we constable?’ the inspector asked, with no hint of compassion. ‘Try to take better care of this one, if you can manage it.’
Lethbridge grumbled to himself.
Ruby gave the policeman a curious look. ‘Is everything okay, Constable Lethbridge?’ she asked. ‘Do you want to sit down?’
‘I think the constable would prefer to stand,’ the inspector said. ‘He seems to find it more comfortable that way.’ Lethbridge ran a hand across his left buttock and flipped open his notebook.
Inspector Parrott turned to McElderry. ‘This looks like your territory, professor. What do you make of it?’
Professor McElderry leaned in low over the map.
‘By those borders, I’d say Roman Empire—maybe around the end of the fourth century.’
‘What about these lines?’ Ruby asked. ‘They all seem to end up in one spot.’
‘Rome,’ McElderry said. ‘Without a doubt.’
‘Well,’ Sam said, smirking. ‘You know what they say.’
McElderry didn’t look up from the chart. ‘If the next words to exit your mouth are “All roads lead to Rome”, I will skin you, roll you in salt and hurl you from the nearest window.’
Sam opened his mouth, then shut it again.
‘Ignore him, professor,’ Ruby said. ‘He gets distracted easily. What do the lines mean?’
‘They appear to mark three routes into the ancient capital. From the far reaches of the empire.’ McElderry traced his finger along the blue line. ‘See? This starts in the south of England, crosses the channel then up along the coast to the river Elbe. Then it’s inland, south over the Alps and down to Rome.’
‘What about the red line?’ Ruby said. ‘That’s France.’
‘On the Normandy coast,’ McElderry said. ‘Then south-east to Marseille, across to Corsica, down through Sardinia, over to Sicily and up the coast to Rome.’
‘And the green line heads up from the top of Africa,’ Gerald said.
‘I think that’s Egypt, actually,’ Sam piped up. ‘Probably Alexandria.’ Everyone in the room looked at him.
‘What?’ he said. ‘I like geography. See? It goes up to Crete then across the Mediterranean.’
The professor drummed his fingers on the desktop. ‘Fascinating,’ he said. ‘A map detailing three routes into the ancient capital.’
Gerald scanned the chart, trying to read the mind of the man who had turned his life upside down. Then an idea popped into his head. It was no bigger than a mustard seed, but it landed in fertile ground.
‘Maybe this isn’t three paths into Rome,’ Gerald said. ‘Maybe it’s three journeys out of the city.’
‘What do you mean?’ the professor said.
Gerald pointed to the start of the blue line in southern England. ‘That looks very close to Glastonbury, doesn’t it?’
McElderry adjusted his glasses. ‘Could be,’ he said.
‘Maybe the blue line has something to do with the diamond casket,’ Gerald said. ‘Maybe it shows how it came to Glastonbury in the first place.’
Inspector Parrott frowned. ‘What about the other two lines?’
Gerald felt his brain whirring. He turned to Sam. ‘Remember that page you found at Beaconsfield?’ he said. ‘The one from that book of local myths?’
‘Yeah?’
Ruby leapt in. ‘That’s right! On the bottom it said the diamond casket was L’une des trois: one of th
ree.’
‘So?’
‘So maybe Green’s looking for two other caskets as well,’ Gerald said.
There was a long pause around the desk while this possibility soaked in.
Then the inspector burst into action. ‘Right! Lethbridge! Get in touch with the police services in France and Egypt. Put them on high alert. If Green’s looking for two more caskets this is our chance to nab him.’
Lethbridge grabbed his two-way radio and elbowed past Mr Fry and Lord Herring as he left the room.
Gerald’s fingers brushed across the red and green lines on the glass.
‘What’s he after?’ Gerald said. ‘What’s in the other two caskets?’
‘I only know of the diamond one,’ McElderry said. ‘The others are news to me.’
Gerald looked at the items on the desk. There was a small ceramic bowl containing some bits and pieces— a few keys on a gold ring, sunglasses, a dry-cleaning ticket. And a glossy black box, hinged at the back. He picked it up and opened the lid. Inside was a human skull.
Gerald stifled a cry. He turned to the professor and held up the box.
McElderry plucked out the skull and cradled it in one hand.
‘Intriguing,’ he said, holding the relic up to the light. ‘Sir Mason Green may well have a fascination with Celtic lore.’
‘What makes you think that?’ the inspector said.
‘The cult of the skull—the ancient Celts used to boil down their enemies’ heads to capture the strength of their souls. Wonderful stuff.’
Gerald swallowed. He looked at the skull, then at the photograph stabbed to the wall. There was a hole in the picture, drilled into the brow like a third eye.
He turned to the butler. ‘Mr Fry,’ he said through a dry throat. ‘I think I’d like to go home now.’
Chapter 3
The view over the Somerset countryside from the Archer corporate helicopter was breathtaking. The landscape spread out in a patchwork of fields, alive with summer colour. Inside the cabin of the luxury Sikorsky S-76 chopper, Gerald, Sam and Ruby sat in leather comfort, their noses pressed against the glass.
‘This billionaire thing just keeps getting better,’ Sam said. He gazed out across the meadows and villages below. ‘This beats driving.’
Ruby flopped back into her seat opposite Gerald, barely able to contain her excitement. ‘This is awesome, Gerald. I’ve always wanted to fly in a helicopter.’
Gerald was no less excited. It was his first time in a helicopter as well. The fact that he also owned it only added to the bizarreness.
After leaving the Rattigan Club they had arrived at the London heliport on the Thames to find a selection of Archer Corporation helicopters on hand. All were decked out in the dark blue livery of the company, each with a golden archer painted across its belly. It was fortunate Gerald was momentarily struck dumb by the realisation that he owned an air wing, because there were no words to describe his thoughts when Mr Fry appeared wearing a brown leather bomber jacket and aviation sunglasses.
‘You?’ Gerald had finally said. ‘You’re the pilot?’
Fry had flipped up the collar of his jacket and pulled an Archer Corporation cap onto his head. ‘Roger that,’ he said.
Less than an hour later they were sweeping across the countryside towards Gerald’s house at Avonleigh.
‘You know the best thing about taking a helicopter instead of the Rolls?’ Gerald called to his friends over the whirring rotor blades.
‘What’s that?’
‘You don’t have to look at the back of Fry’s head for three hours.’
Ruby laughed and flicked off her belt to take a seat between Sam and Gerald. ‘What do you make of all that in the Green Room?’ she said.
Gerald stared out the window at the fields below. ‘In the cavern under Beaconsfield, Green said he was surprised I didn’t know about some great family secret,’ he said.
‘There’s obviously something in your family history that’s got him excited,’ Ruby said.
‘And the hole in the head?’ Sam said. ‘That’s just sick.’
‘Well, Green’s gone now, off looking for whatever,’ Ruby said, ‘so we don’t need to worry about that.’ Gerald saw Ruby give Sam a look that said stick a sock in it. ‘Anyway, what were you and Constable Lethbridge chatting about?’ She was clearly trying to change the subject.
‘He’s funny,’ Sam said. ‘There was a break-in at his house and someone stole his notebook. He made it sound like he was jumped by a gang of ninjas.’
‘His notebook?’ Gerald said.
‘It had stuff about the diamond theft and everything that happened at Beaconsfield. Parrott’s not happy.’
Ruby chuckled. ‘He’s a walking disaster area, that Lethbridge.’
The helicopter swooped in over Avonleigh, made a low arc over the tennis court and pavilion, hovered a second over the orchard then sent a flock of sheep scattering as it landed on a helipad in a field about a hundred metres from the house.
Gerald, Sam and Ruby jumped from the cabin as the rotor wound down, still buzzing from the excitement of the ride. They were greeted by Mrs Rutherford who ushered them up to the house.
‘I wish Mr Fry wouldn’t use that thing,’ she said. ‘Puts the chickens off for a week. He goes all silly when he gets in that thing.’
Gerald peered over his shoulder. Mr Fry was walking around the helicopter, pausing to wipe a bug spot from the glass with his handkerchief.
‘At least he seems happy now,’ Gerald said.
‘Oh, yes,’ Mrs Rutherford muttered. ‘Mr Fry considers himself to be quite the top pistol.’
Ruby giggled. ‘I think you mean Top Gun.’
‘Whatever it is, Mr Fry seems to think it’s appropriate to frighten my chickens with no thought to the consequences. Very selfish, I would say.’ Mrs Rutherford mumbled something about boys and their toys as she led them up to the terrace.
‘Perhaps it’s just as well Mr Fry brought you home quickly,’ she said. ‘Mr Prisk has arrived and he has a number of things to discuss with you, Master Gerald. He’s in the library, in the north wing.’
Gerald and the Valentine twins walked through the imposing sandstone doorway and under a carving of the Archer family crest—three forearms, hands clutching elbows to form a triangle around a blazing sun. They veered down a broad corridor that was lined in walnut and hung with paintings of rural landscapes. They hadn’t spent much time in that end of the mansion, preferring to enjoy the summer days outside.
Ruby nudged Gerald. ‘You okay?’ she asked as they walked.
‘I’m fine. Like you said, Green’s a million miles away. And now the police have a clue where to find him. What’s not to be okay about?’ Gerald knew he didn’t sound very convincing.
They reached the end of the passage and Gerald opened a wooden door to reveal an enormous room. It was lined with bookcases that climbed to the second floor creating a soaring sense of space. Halfway up the wall was a mezzanine walkway. And halfway around the walkway stood Mr Prisk, leafing through a leather-bound volume. He stopped reading and gave a wave, tucked the book under his arm and climbed down a spiral staircase.
Gerald was surprised to see Mr Prisk looking so cheerful. His great aunt’s lawyer had exuded anxiety ever since Gerald inherited her estate. It had been left to Mr Prisk to appease the relatives who had missed out on any share of the fortune. It was the first time that Gerald had seen the little man looking pleased to be alive.
‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ Mr Prisk said as he settled in a wing-backed chair in front of a fireplace. ‘Just right for what I’ve got planned.’
Gerald gave Sam and Ruby a curious look. They sat on a couch opposite Mr Prisk who pulled some documents from a briefcase.
‘I have some news,’ Mr Prisk said. ‘Some good news, and some even better news. Would you like the good news first?’
Gerald leaned forward. ‘Yes please.’
‘I have been in touch with your school in Sydne
y. I spoke to the acting deputy principal.’ Mr Prisk consulted a sheet of paper. ‘Mr Atkinson. I have advised him of your change in circumstances and that you may not be back in Australia for some time yet. I must say, he was delighted. He said you should stay as long as you like.’
Gerald’s eyes narrowed. ‘That sounds like Mr Atkinson.’
‘Which brings me to the even better news.’
‘What?’ Sam said, joining Gerald on the edge of the couch. ‘Even better than not having to go back to school?’
‘Quite. Your not having to return to Australia means you will have more time to work on this.’ Mr Prisk handed across a pile of bound documents. Gerald took them onto his lap. The cover on the top one was emblazoned with the blue and gold Archer Corporation logo. He opened it.
‘What is all this?’ Gerald flicked through pages crammed with pie charts and tables of numbers.
‘That’s the June financial outcome for Archer Corporation,’ Mr Prisk said. ‘The executive summary. The details are in here.’ He tapped a large document box with the toe of his carefully shined shoe. ‘Now I estimate that we can work our way through the first five divisions by the end of this week, then concentrate on the other five next week. I’ve drawn up an agenda and you’ll note I’ve left a fair amount of time for discussing general business. Your great aunt was most keen for you to understand the day-to-day running of the corporation. I’d say a few solid weeks of hitting the books will get you started.’
Gerald recoiled. ‘A few weeks!’
‘Five or six at most. Now the second quarter trading for the year is traditionally fairly quiet in the northern hemisphere as we head into the summer months but you’ll be pleased to hear the new operations in Argentina and Peru are providing an excellent hedge in the current economic climate. If you turn to page 137 in the green booklet you’ll find a detailed breakdown of the trading for—’
‘Mr Prisk?’
It was Sam, still balancing on the edge of the couch.
The lawyer looked mildly annoyed by the interruption.
‘Yes, Mister Valentine?’
The Emerald Casket Page 3
