‘I’ve told you, Alisha, I’m not happy with this market idea,’ Mr Gupta said. ‘There are too many dangers.’
Gerald sensed some tension. ‘If it’s a problem,’ he said, ‘we can do something else.’
Alisha stood up. ‘There is no problem, Gerald. Other than my father wanting to keep me behind glass like the rest of his precious collection.’ She glared at Mr Gupta, then sailed out of the room.
Mr Gupta’s face darkened. He excused himself and went after his daughter.
Ruby grinned to herself. ‘Trouble in paradise?’ she murmured.
The servant returned with a fresh tray of drinks. Ruby selected a tall glass filled with sweet lime juice.
‘Will there be anything else, miss?’
‘Not for me thank you. But my brother could use some smelling salts.’ The servant gave her a startled look and hurried off.
‘Do you see what I mean?’ Ruby said to Gerald. ‘Alisha bats her eyelids and Sam rolls over and wants his tummy tickled. It’s pathetic.’
Gerald looked at the expression that lingered on Sam’s face. ‘He would make a good puppy.’
‘One that needs fixing,’ Ruby said. ‘Where do you think Mr Fry is? Or Mr Hoskins?’
Before Gerald could answer, Mr Gupta’s servant reappeared and told them they had a phone call. He pointed a remote control at a screen mounted on a wall. After a second of static, Professor McElderry from the British Museum morphed into focus.
Gerald slapped Sam on the shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Wake-up time.’
McElderry’s red beard almost filled the screen. He cleared his throat with a moist hack and beamed at the three of them over his reading glasses.
‘Hello you lot,’ he said. ‘Not melted into a puddle yet?’
‘Morning professor,’ Gerald said. ‘Early start for you isn’t it?’
‘Birds and worms, Gerald. Birds and worms. Look, we’ve had a bit of a breakthrough. Naturally, when I say “we” I mean “I” but that’s for the history books to record.’
Ruby snickered and whispered to Gerald out of the side of her mouth, ‘Bit full of himself.’
‘Miss Valentine,’ the professor rumbled. ‘This is a video call. If you can manage to control yourself, I’ll continue.’
Ruby mouthed a silent ‘Sorry’ and retreated to a chair by the desk.
‘I’ve done some research on your family tree, Gerald—on your mother’s side. Do you remember the name Quintus Antonius? He was on the far side of the wall in the Green Room. It appears he was a consul in the court of the Roman emperor at the end of the fourth century. Seems he and the emperor, Theodosius, were very close.’
‘I’m related to the best mate of a Roman emperor?’ Gerald said.
‘Looks that way. Following Sir Mason’s record of your heritage, I’ve managed to find some mention of your ancestors in our archive at the museum.’
‘Really?’ Gerald said. ‘What?’
‘Not much, I’m afraid. Quintus had three sons. Around 390AD, when the boys were all young men, they were summoned with their father before the emperor. He sent them on a mission. But I can’t find any information about what it was. They left Rome one night and then…pffft.’
‘Pffft?’ Sam said.
‘They disappeared. Fell off the map. No record of them again,’ the professor said.
Gerald sighed. ‘So that’s a dead end then.’
‘That is,’ McElderry said, ‘no record until now.’
‘Pardon?’
McElderry exuded smugness. He picked up a notebook from his desk. ‘I managed to translate a section of the script that was carved into the rotunda under Beaconsfield. A quick call to a colleague at the Vatican Library confirmed it. Gerald, the person who built that Roman burial chamber was none other than Gaius Antonius.’
There was a silence.
‘Who’s he?’
‘The eldest son of Quintus Antonius, that’s who,’ McElderry said.
Gerald went blank, but Ruby spoke. ‘So the person who built that chamber is directly related to Gerald?’
McElderry leaned back beaming with triumph. ‘Precisely. But there’s more to it. Think back to the map in Green’s study. Remember the blue line that traced the route of the diamond casket to Glastonbury. I wager that Gaius Antonius was the courier who brought it to Britain.’
Gerald finally found the wit to speak. ‘What difference does all this make? That was sixteen hundred years ago.’
McElderry pulled back a corner of his mouth. ‘Gerald, what do all good burial chambers need?’
‘Um…’
‘A body, of course!’ the professor said. ‘And we… I…have found one. Right under the plinth that held up the diamond casket. Gaius is not too pretty after all these years but it’s amazing what a box of bones can tell you, especially when they offer up something like this.’
The professor dug in his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a tiny object and held it up. It took a second for the autofocus to adjust but when it did it drew gasps from everyone in Mr Gupta’s library. McElderry held a gold ring that bore the clear insignia of three forearms clasped at the elbows to form a triangle around a blazing sun.
‘Your family seal goes all the way to ancient Rome, Gerald,’ Professor McElderry said. ‘The Vatican Library was able to confirm that this emblem is from the Antonius family…your family, Gerald.’
Gerald sat heavily on the arm of Ruby’s chair. ‘I don’t get it, professor.’
McElderry banged the table with his fist. ‘Think, boy! Three caskets. Three lines on the map. Three sons!’
Sam piped up. ‘Three bears. Three musketeers. Three blind mice.’
The professor’s brow furled into a knot. ‘You truly are the stupidest boy in the world,’ he growled. ‘I believe the three caskets were smuggled out of Rome by Gerald’s ancestors and taken to the ends of the empire.’
Ruby straightened in her chair. ‘The three arms must represent the bond of the three brothers.’
‘So what’s the sun?’ Gerald asked.
‘Illumination, maybe?’ Ruby said. ‘Or power?’
‘Or a common purpose,’ the professor said. ‘Whatever it is, Sir Mason Green wants the contents of these caskets. He’s got one and he sees Gerald as a key part to securing the others. You are the centre of his plan.’
An image filled Gerald’s mind of a photograph pinned to a wall, a silver letter opener stuck into the throat and a hole between the eyes. He shivered.
‘Okay, Green followed that blue line to Glastonbury,’ Gerald said. ‘And he found that golden rod. But the other two lines go to France and Egypt. That’s nowhere near us in India. We’re miles away from wherever Green might be, right?’
McElderry glanced across to his left. ‘Do you want to make an appearance now?’ he said. Another head slid into frame.
‘Inspector Parrott!’ Ruby said in surprise.
The police inspector did not look pleased.
‘I thought I better let you know the latest on the investigation,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately we’ve had no success in finding Sir Mason Green.’
‘Now there’s a surprise,’ Ruby mumbled.
‘There have been unconfirmed sightings in Egypt but nothing concrete. However, we do have some news on another aspect of the case. Your report about Green’s associate. This so-called thin man—’
Gerald and Sam sat bolt upright.
‘Forensics have finished their investigation of a burnt-out cable drum that was discovered in an orchard on the outskirts of Glastonbury—the one you said this thin man was caught up in.’
‘Yes?’
Parrott hesitated a second. ‘There were no human remains.’
Gerald looked at Sam in disbelief. ‘You mean he survived and walked away? Impossible.’
‘Possible or not, I’ve taken the precaution of contacting the Interpol office in Delhi,’ Parrott said. ‘One of their criminal intelligence officers will be in touch, just to keep you in the loop. And
to see that you’re—’ He paused, fumbling for the right word.
‘That we’re what?’ Gerald asked.
‘That you’re…enjoying your holiday,’ the inspector said.
Ruby stared hard at the video screen. ‘Surely you don’t think he’s going to hunt us down?’
The inspector glanced down. ‘Err, of course not. But there’s no harm in being cautious. I understand you have your own security arrangements?’
Gerald blinked. ‘We do?’
‘I think he’s referring to Mr Fry,’ Ruby said.
‘Oh,’ Gerald said. ‘Him.’
‘We’ll keep looking for this thin man,’ the inspector said, ‘but in the meantime, mind how you go.’
‘Mind how we go?’ Sam spluttered. ‘The guy’s a psycho.’
The inspector fiddled with his cufflinks. ‘Then really mind how you go.’
Gerald suddenly had a thought. ‘Professor, you’ve been looking at my family tree. Did you come across any of my relatives who had seven daughters?’
McElderry scratched his bristly chin. ‘There were a hell of a lot of people on that wall, Gerald, but no, I don’t think so.’
Before the professor could go on, the lights in the room cut out and the screen fizzled to a white spot in the middle, then went blank. A few seconds later the hum of generators came from outside and the lights blinked back on, but the videophone was dead. Mr Gupta’s butler rushed into the room, full of apologies for the blackout. ‘So frequent this time of year,’ he said.
Gerald stared at the blank screen. ‘I can’t believe the thin man lived through that fire. He was right in the middle of it.’
‘Even if he did live he’d be horribly injured,’ Ruby said. ‘There’s no way he’d be able to find us.’
Gerald shuddered at the memory. ‘What do you reckon, Sam?’
Gerald and Ruby both turned to Sam. He was gazing towards the library door.
‘Has anyone seen Alisha?’ he asked.
Ruby clenched her jaw. She tossed a small brown bottle to Gerald. He caught it in one hand.
‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘The butler gave it to me,’ Ruby said. ‘Smelling salts. Feel free to pour it down his stupid throat.’ She stormed past Sam and back towards their villa.
Chapter 6
Gerald was starting to think Ruby was right about Alisha in one respect: she had an uncanny knack for getting her own way.
He was amazed how easily Alisha manipulated her father. She worked on him throughout the day, finally convincing him that a trip to the market was a good idea: a chance to show off the city’s colour and diversity. She also persuaded him to stay at home. But Mr Gupta did win one concession.
‘You must have supervision,’ he said. ‘Kidnappings for ransom still occur.’
And that is how Gerald, Sam, Ruby and Alisha wound up in the back of a large black Mercedes limousine at dusk, cruising down the long driveway out of the Gupta compound, with Mr Fry in the front passenger seat and a tall, slender woman behind the wheel.
‘Who is she?’ Gerald whispered to Alisha, indicating the woman in the driver’s seat.
‘My worst nightmare,’ Alisha replied. ‘Miss Turner, my governess. She brings me home from boarding school at Cheltenham in the holidays. Then she sticks around to act as the fun police. You have no idea.’
Gerald glanced at the back of Fry’s head. ‘I think I can imagine.’
Miss Turner struck Gerald as someone who liked to be in charge. She had pointedly directed Mr Fry to the passenger seat. Aged somewhere in her thirties, she wore her hair in a precise bun that pinned her as a ballet-school graduate. She was dressed in a pair of tight grey pants with matching sleeveless top and sculpted biceps. The almost flawless pearl of her cheeks stood in stark contrast to the polished tungsten of her sunglasses. If Gerald had to pick one word to sum up Miss Turner he’d have a hard time choosing between ‘intimidating’ and ‘terrifying’.
The car slowed as it approached the street and two security guards appeared from inside a squat hut to haul open the front gates. They saluted and the Mercedes eased onto a broad avenue. They passed colonial-era mansions surrounded by manicured gardens. The peaceful drive lasted until they reached the corner. Then they swung into the melee of vehicles heading towards old Delhi.
‘Is it always like this?’ Sam asked as the limousine swept along in a torrent of scooters, autorickshaws, cars and motorcycles. Horns blared around them as vehicles tried to navigate through the surge of traffic. Gerald’s eyes bulged as an oncoming bus pulled into their lane and hurtled straight at them. But like pedestrians on a busy city crossing, the drivers swerved, missed each other by centimetres and continued on their way.
‘No one’s hit me yet,’ Miss Turner said, hauling the steering wheel over to the left as an overloaded scooter zipped by.
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ Ruby whispered to Gerald.
‘Good driving is like anything else,’ Miss Turner said. ‘It’s all about control. As long as you’re the one in control, you can be master of the situation. No different from looking after you four.’
Mr Fry gave an approving nod.
‘I can see you two are going to get on well,’ Gerald said.
The closer they got to the old city, the more choked the traffic became. There were people everywhere. Along the roadsides sweating couriers pushed handcarts stacked high with bales of goods. Laneways, too narrow for motorised vehicles, were crammed with shops and stalls. They snaked away from the main road into the depths of the marketplace.
Gerald was mesmerised. ‘There’s just so much… life,’ he said.
Sam gawked out the window. ‘Did I just see a cow down that street?’
‘Of course,’ Ruby said. ‘Cows are sacred here. Didn’t you know that, geography boy?’
Alisha elbowed Gerald in the ribs and winked. ‘Miss Turner,’ she said. ‘It might be a good idea to park and walk from here. The traffic’s getting worse.’
The governess grunted a response and pulled over to the side of the road. Before Miss Turner could switch off the engine, Alisha had pushed open the back door. She heaved Gerald to get out. The backseat emptied.
‘Okay,’ Alisha called into the car. ‘We’ll see you back here in a couple of hours.’ She grabbed Sam and Gerald by the hand and dragged them towards a laneway seething with people. Ruby glanced back at Mr Fry and Miss Turner sitting in the limo staring open-mouthed at their disappearing charges. She shrugged and dived into the crowd after the others.
‘Come on!’ Alisha squealed. ‘Let’s have some fun.’ She skipped deeper into the throng, pulling Sam and Gerald with her. Ruby gave chase, dodging and weaving, and grasped Gerald’s free hand.
Like a whirlpool, the crowd swallowed them whole.
The smell and the heat. That’s what struck Gerald the most—like an overlong Christmas hug from your least favourite uncle. They were pressed in on all sides by the heaving mass and the temperature rose ever higher. A heady mix of aromas assaulted Gerald’s nose: clouds of burning incense, body odours, spices, frying foods, open drains, animals…it was a pungent perfume unique to the marketplace.
After the initial crush at the entryway, the crowd thinned from oppressive to almost tolerable. Gerald, Sam, Alisha and Ruby found themselves at the start of a maze of alleyways. Weathered buildings stretched along either side of them, some two storeys, others three and four. Sections of mismatched corrugated iron and plywood jutted out at all angles from above the shop fronts. A tangle of home-strung electricity cables stretched overhead. Most of the shops were smaller than Gerald’s modest-sized bedroom at home in Sydney; they stood side-by-side like an endless row of caves worn in a cliff face. The bazaar was bursting with activity.
Gerald found himself falling into step behind a boy maybe nine years old. He was barefoot and stripped to the waist, and on his head, balanced on a folded tea towel, he carried a block of ice the size of four house bricks. In the stifling heat of the marketplace, c
ut off from any cooling breeze, the ice melted freely down his face and over his shoulders. The boy tottered through the crowd of shoppers, one hand steadying the ice and the other slicing between the people in front of him like a butter knife, until he skipped out of view.
‘You have no idea how good it is to be here with you,’ Alisha beamed at Gerald. She still clutched his hand and only let it go when her mobile phone chirped in her handbag. She fished it out and looked at the screen. A grin flashed across her face.
‘It’s Miss Turner,’ she said. ‘Shame about the phone reception in these markets.’ She dropped the phone back into her bag. ‘Who’s hungry?’
Alisha fronted up to a food stall. A stocky man with a checked cloth knotted around his head to catch the sweat was nevertheless sweating over two large pans of bubbling oil.
She returned with a plate piled with golden brown pyramids of pastry glistening under a sheen of oil.
Gerald picked one up in his fingertips and took a bite. His eyes sprung wide.
‘Hot!’ he gasped. ‘Hot, but yum.’
‘Potato samosas,’ Alisha said.
The Indian takeaway around the corner from Gerald’s house in Sydney had samosas on the menu. But they were bags of soggy flour compared to the flavour bomb that had just exploded in his mouth. Alisha held the plate out for Sam and Ruby.
‘So, what’s with your dad?’ Sam said through a mouthful. ‘How come he won’t let you out without a babysitter?’
Alisha snorted. ‘He’s afraid someone’s going to throw a bag over my head and hold me for ransom,’ she said. ‘As if anyone here knows who I am.’
‘But your dad’s really rich,’ Ruby said. ‘That makes you a target.’
Alisha glared at Ruby. ‘I think I can look after myself. Five years at boarding school has taught me a few things. I don’t need to be rolled in bubble wrap.’
The last of the day’s sunlight fell behind the surrounding buildings. Lamps flickered on around the stalls, baking the market in a yellow glaze. Gerald’s nose tingled. Alisha pointed down a dog-legged laneway to a crowd of people stepping past large cane baskets brimming with brightly coloured powders of yellow, orange and red.
The Emerald Casket Page 7
