Before he could answer, Gerald felt a firm hand on his shoulder and he was ushered through a squat opening at the base of the minaret. A heavy wooden door banged shut behind him and Gerald’s vision went blank in the darkness.
‘Allow your eyes to adjust,’ the man said. ‘The steps are steep.’
The blackness lightened and Gerald was able to pick out the shape of stairs spiralling up to his right. He started climbing. The guide followed behind. Occasional beams of light cut across his path from the windows notched into the walls. Every few circuits they came to a landing that led out through double doors to a walkway around the tower.
‘Not this one, sir,’ the guide said each time.
Just when Gerald thought they couldn’t possibly go any higher they reached the top landing and doors lined with pressed gold.
‘Open them,’ the guide’s voice came from behind. Gerald grabbed a handle the shape of an elephant’s head and pushed. The doors swung open and Gerald emerged at the top of the minaret on a platform ringed by metal railings.
He took in the full expanse of the site below. Sam, Ruby and Alisha waved up at him. In a small garden, he could see Mr Fry and Miss Turner sitting together on a bench under a tree.
‘Tell me how you found this card.’
Gerald swung around. The guide was right behind him. The kindness in his voice had evaporated.
‘I didn’t find it,’ Gerald said uneasily. ‘A fortuneteller gave it to me.’
The man’s eyes tightened. ‘He handed it to you? Pressed it into your palm?’
‘Well, no. He must have slipped it into my pocket. I didn’t notice till after he ran away.’
‘Ran away? Why did he run away?’
Gerald was beginning to feel edgy. It was a long way down to the ground. He took a step back and felt the metal rail against his spine.
‘I don’t know why he ran,’ Gerald said. ‘He was mumbling stuff about making a choice and facing temptations.’
The guide extended his hand. ‘The card. Please.’
Gerald reached into his pocket and gave it to him.
The man looked at the card and studied Gerald’s face closely.
‘Do you know what this represents?’ The man’s voice rose in intensity. ‘What it means?’ There was no way Gerald was about to reveal that it was his family crest. He shook his head.
‘This is the symbol of a cult,’ the guide said.
‘A cult?’ Gerald repeated.
The man glared at him. ‘The deadliest cult in India.’
Chapter 9
Gerald was stunned. Cults were for the weird and the unhinged.
‘What type of cult?’ he asked.
‘The type that would cut off your hand and steal your watch rather than bother asking you the time,’ the guide said, his face darkening. ‘The type that would slit your throat if you looked at them the wrong way. In short, the type you want nothing to do with.’
Gerald’s mind raced. Things started to fall into place. The knife in the alley. The kidnapper who tried to snatch Alisha—was that bandit a member of this cult? Had his family adopted its calling card from bandits that liked slicing throats open?
The guide’s voice somehow penetrated Gerald’s thoughts.
‘You must not seek out this cult, young sahib,’ the man said. ‘No good can come of it.’
Gerald couldn’t deny that this was good advice. The run-in with the bandit the night before was proof enough of that. Was trying to beat Green to the hidden casket really worth the risk? That mattress of money he inherited was looking mighty soft and tempting. Surely better to lounge back on that than pursue Sir Mason Green across the globe?
‘What do you know about this cult?’ Gerald asked the man.
‘Enough to give children nightmares,’ the man replied.
‘How about secret caskets? Do you know of any stories about treasure hidden in a stone chest?’
The guide looked hard into Gerald’s face. ‘Are you sure you want to take this path?’
Gerald nodded. The lure of defeating Sir Mason Green was just too strong. His curiosity about the secret behind the caskets was stronger still.
The man thought for a moment then pointed to a cluster of flat-roofed buildings outside the main gates. ‘Do you see the bazaar down there? The building furthest on the right? They sell many things carved from stone. The owner may be able to assist you.’
Gerald led Sam, Ruby and Alisha along a broken pathway into the market, leaving Mr Fry and Miss Turner enjoying a cup of tea together at a roadside stall.
Gerald had the overwhelming sense he was on the threshold of some great discovery—that he was about to avert a tragedy.
‘…three…four…five…’
‘What are you doing?’ Ruby asked.
‘Counting gates,’ Gerald said. ‘The fortune-teller last night said something about the tenth gate—so I’m counting.’
‘Oh puh-leese,’ she said. ‘You believe anything that man said?’
‘…seven…eight…you can scoff all you like. But I had a dream—’
‘Yes, thank you Martin Luther King.’
‘—and if I can find this casket, it might just save your life. So a little less snark, thank you.’
Ruby stopped and glared at Gerald. He continued. ‘…nine…ten.’ He halted outside a narrow opening, a rickety wooden gate across the entrance. He glanced back at the others, smug as a teacher’s pet. ‘The tenth one,’ he said. ‘Just like the man said.’
Across a squat courtyard, crowded with stone sculptures and weeds poking through the pavers, was a small building. Gerald led the way inside.
There was barely enough room in the shop for them all. Gerald squeezed between stands of sculpted elephants, lions, snakes and cows. There were racks of trinket boxes and paperweights. Everything on display was carved from stone.
‘What are we looking for?’ Sam asked.
‘Anything with my family seal on it,’ Gerald said. ‘Or a clue to where the caskets are hidden.’
Gerald scanned the shelves and display cases. If they’d been searching for tiny statues of Ganesha or dancing goddesses he’d found the right place. Nothing looked remotely helpful.
Then Alisha’s voice sounded from across the shop. ‘How about this, Gerald?’
She pointed to a large rectangular stone box at the foot of the store’s counter. Gerald blinked. Ruby appeared next to him and she saw it as well.
‘Is that really it?’ she said.
The box was identical to the diamond casket they had found in the burial chamber at Beaconsfield.
Gerald almost fell over a display of stone lions in his rush to get to it. He dragged the casket into the aisle, grunting with the strain, and gaped at what he saw. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but the similarity was unmistakable. The same carved images of suns and moons, the same whorls and swirls. And on top of the lid was the familiar design of a muscled archer, his bow at full draw. The only difference was the shape of the indentation in the archer’s abdomen. The casket beneath Beaconsfield had a hollow designed to accept the Noor Jehan diamond—Mr Gupta’s diamond. This one, however, had a sharp rectangular indentation.
Had the object of Sir Mason Green’s treasure hunt been sitting neglected and forgotten at the back of a rundown souvenir shop in Delhi?
‘You have a fine eye, young fellow.’
A man dressed in long white trousers and a billowing shirt emerged from behind a curtain at the rear of the shop. He glided smoothly past the stacks of statues and carvings.
‘One of our best pieces. Most of my customers are tourists looking for some cheap keepsake. Only a true collector would appreciate this.’
Gerald could barely take his eyes from the casket. He crouched by it and ran his hands across its surface, clearing away the dust. ‘How did you get it?’ he asked. ‘Where did it come from?’
The man’s face wrinkled in a smile. ‘My family visits remote villages all over India searching for relics such as this. W
e buy only the very finest. This piece is from the south, from a fishing village on the Bay of Bengal. My son himself made the purchase. It had been in the owner’s family for generations. Centuries even.’ The man nodded to himself. ‘You have a very fine eye.’
Gerald couldn’t believe it. He turned to Ruby. ‘Behind the tenth gate, just like the man said.’ He stood and looked at the store owner. ‘How much is it?’
The man wrote a figure on a piece of paper and handed it to Gerald. ‘How does one put a price on such beauty?’ he said.
Gerald looked at the paper and swallowed. ‘You seem to have managed it,’ he said.
‘It is a unique piece, sir,’ the man murmured to Gerald. ‘You must recognise its quality.’
Gerald looked at the others and shrugged. ‘It’s only money, right?’ He pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed the man his black American Express card.
The man smiled warmly. ‘That will do nicely, sir.’
As the shop owner processed the sale, Gerald struggled to lift the casket onto the counter.
Alisha looked at it doubtfully. ‘You should have haggled with him,’ she said. ‘That’s a lot of money for a box.’
‘A box!’ Gerald said. ‘Alisha, I have probably just saved our lives.’
‘What?’
‘The dream I had—’
‘It was a dream, Gerald!’ Ruby was incensed. ‘You’re talking like a lunatic.’
‘You don’t recognise this casket?’ He spun around to face her. ‘You don’t see how we’ve been led here— the fortune-teller, my family seal. We’ve been brought to this place, at the tenth gate. I can’t tell you why or what it means. But I’ve found it. And Mason Green loses.’
Ruby clenched her jaw. ‘It was a dream…’
Gerald turned his back. ‘Fine. Don’t believe me. But be ready to apologise when we open this thing.’
Gerald suddenly stopped and turned to the shop owner. ‘Does this come with a key? A gemstone, or something?’
The man looked puzzled. ‘There is no key. But I have many gemstones. Let me show you—’
‘No, that’s all right,’ Gerald interrupted. ‘We’ll get it open. Sam, give me a hand.’
Sam and Gerald hefted the casket out of the shop. Ruby and Alisha followed, whispering to each other.
They got halfway across the courtyard and set the casket down on a stone bench.
‘Come on,’ Gerald said. ‘I want to open this thing now.’
‘Gerald, you realise that you’re—’
He cut Ruby off. ‘I’m not interested in hearing it, okay? This is important. Nothing you can say will change that.’
Ruby took a deep breath, then said quietly, ‘Fine.’
Gerald gripped his fingers under the lip of the lid. ‘There’s no booby traps around this one. We might not need a key.’ He jerked upwards. Nothing moved. He tried again, straining against the weight. Nothing.
‘It’s bound to be a bit tight after a thousand years. Sam, try that end and we’ll do it together.’
Sam shrugged at his sister and clutched onto the lid.
‘Okay. On three. One…two…’
They both lifted.
‘It’s moving!’ Gerald said. ‘Try again.’
The lid came off with a rush and they almost dropped it as it shot free.
‘This is it,’ Gerald breathed. ‘Nothing will ever be the same again.’ He fixed a triumphant eye on Ruby then reached inside the casket.
He pulled out a piece of paper, folded in half.
‘Go on,’ Sam said. ‘Have a look.’
Gerald opened it.
‘It’s a message,’ he said.
‘What’s it say?’
Gerald took another look, then closed his eyes. His hand dropped to his side.
Alisha plucked the page from Gerald’s fingers. She unfolded it. ‘It says: “This quality product was proudly manufactured by Kumar & Sons of Tamil Nadu, 2006”.’
‘What?’ Ruby said.
Alisha slipped the page back between Gerald’s fingers. ‘They seem very proud of their work.’
Gerald was devastated.
Sam nudged him on the shoulder. ‘Never mind. Come on, mate.’
Gerald lifted his head. His eyes were ringed in red. The others made for the gate. He glanced at the window of the shop. The man in the white shirt was placing an identical casket at the foot of the counter.
Gerald sat hunched on the wooden bridge that straddled the fishpond in the Gupta compound like some giant garden gnome in the rain.
‘I’ve just saved all our lives,’ he mumbled to himself. He couldn’t believe he’d uttered the words in the first place. ‘Nothing will ever be the same again,’ he said in the same self-mocking tone. ‘What an idiot!’ He screwed up his eyes and his chin drooped to his chest. He was drenched through and miserable. He’d lost track of how long he’d been sitting in the pouring rain, trying to rinse away his embarrassment.
Gerald was suddenly aware that the rain was no longer drumming on his skull. He lifted his head to find an umbrella over him.
‘Are you going to stay here much longer, because I can get you a fishing rod if you want?’ Ruby was grinning down at him.
Gerald stared at the rain-pocked surface of the pond. Even the fish had enough sense to keep their noses out of this weather. ‘I’m surprised you’re talking to me.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Ruby said. ‘You saved my life, didn’t you?’
Gerald squirmed. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Actually, it’s more than fair. You acted like a complete prat. What possessed you to go on like that? And I can’t believe what you paid for that casket—it would have fed an African village for a month.’
Gerald lifted himself from the boards and wiped the rain off his face. ‘Want to come for a walk?’
They set out under the umbrella across the lush lawns in the teeming rain. Gerald was glad Ruby had come out. He didn’t have the nerve to go back inside by himself.
‘The dreams seem so real,’ he said. ‘It’s like Mason Green is in the room with me. I think I really believed that finding that casket would save our lives, would stop Green from hurting us. You’re right—I was possessed.’
Ruby walked alongside him in silence, feet sloshing through the grass. They stopped by a white marble statue of a Greek god, a bow and arrow in his hands.
‘But you’re finished with it now,’ Ruby said. ‘We can get on with our holiday without you going nuts again?’
Gerald didn’t answer straight away. He knew Ruby was right. They were only dreams. He had acted like an idiot. But Mason Green’s voice lingered in his ear: It’s in India, Gerald. Just waiting for you. If one of the caskets was in the country, how could he deny its lure? How could he?
‘Sure,’ Gerald said to Ruby. ‘Let’s go see some tigers.’
‘You disappoint me, Gerald.’
Sir Mason Green sat on a lounge in Gerald’s bed chamber, an ankle crooked over one knee, a gold-banded cigarette in the fingers of his right hand. His left cradled a tumbler of dark liquid, which Gerald assumed was whisky—his father was fond of an after-dinner tipple. In fact, the rhythm of Green’s sip-drag-exhale-sigh-sip was so similar to his father’s nightly ritual it was as if he was lifting images from his own life and wrapping them around the figure of Sir Mason Green.
Gerald tried desperately to wake himself. But he was trapped in the binds of sleep. Sir Mason swallowed deep and swirled his drink. The ice tinkled like a crystal bell. He placed the tumbler on a side table and leaned behind the lounge to pull out a case, one that might contain a musical instrument—a clarinet perhaps, or an oboe. He flipped two brass clasps and opened the lid to reveal, cushioned in maroon velvet, the rod from the diamond casket. He placed his cigarette in an ashtray and picked up the sceptre, cradling it like a newborn child.
‘I’ll make a deal with you, Mr Wilkins,’ Green said, his eyes fixed on the golden rod in his hands. ‘You help me find the next casket
and I’ll tell you exactly what this beautiful relic is for—its glorious history…’ Green paused to wipe a smudge from the rod’s patina, ‘…and its bountiful future.’
Gerald tried to open his eyes but it was as if his lashes were glued. Yet he could see Sir Mason Green so clearly, smell the tobacco smouldering in the ashtray. Every moment he spent with this spectral Mason Green somehow made the man more real, his presence more tangible. Gerald had to wake up.
‘What? First you threaten me and my friends and now you want a partnership?’ Gerald said to his tormentor. ‘What’s the matter? Can’t you find it yourself?’
The man’s eyes narrowed. He placed the golden rod back in its case.
‘I am not used to being spoken to in such a manner by a child,’ he said, snapping the clasps closed.
‘Who cares?’ Gerald said. ‘It’s not like you’re real.’
Green picked up his cigarette, took a long drag and allowed the smoke to pour from his nostrils.
‘You should care, Mr Wilkins,’ he said.
Sip-drag-exhale-sigh-sip.
‘You seem to think my threat is not serious. I would hate for you to think that I am not a man of my word.’
Gerald tossed in his bed, trying to shake the vision from his mind. But the voice resonated in the room.
‘You had best be first to the casket, Mr Wilkins,’ Green continued, his voice a rasp. He stood up from the lounge and drifted across to Gerald’s bedside. He held up the cigarette and blew on the tip. It flared bright. ‘The lives of your friends depend on it.’
Then he stabbed the cigarette into Gerald’s face, right between his eyes. The red ember seared the skin, as hot as an iron. The pain was electric. Gerald struggled to sit up but his shoulders were pinned to the bed, some hidden force holding him down. Green’s eyes grew wild. The old man pressed down on the cigarette. Its tip was, impossibly, still alight. A shriek of agony jammed in Gerald’s throat. He lay there, unable to move or make a sound, his mouth framing a silent scream.
‘Beat me to the casket,’ Green snarled. ‘It’s your only hope.’
Gerald’s back arched at the torture. His eyes flew open as he finally broke the bonds of sleep. He sat up, his legs tangled in his sheets, sweat covering his body.
The Emerald Casket Page 11
