by Darrell Pitt
Jack found it hard to believe. ‘You mean it has more than ice and snow?’
‘It’s a lovely place to visit. Ask any Norwegian.’
Jack felt his cheeks turn rosy as they donned overcoats. It was freezing. After consulting a map, Mr Doyle found a trail and they began a long march down the hillside. Snow-covered pines surrounded them. The landscape lay strangely quiet in the morning twilight, as if a blanket smothered everything.
It started snowing. Light flurries danced across the landscape as they followed a wide, rocky path. The trail looked like it had been worn down by years of travel. Mr Doyle pointed to a house on the far side of the valley, a small wooden hut, painted red, nestled among the trees.
‘I believe that is Professor Morely’s residence,’ he said. ‘We should reach it within the hour.’
‘I hope his reception is a little warmer than Professor Stein’s,’ Scarlet said.
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t give us the cold shoulder,’ Mr Doyle said, winking.
‘You notice, of course,’ Scarlet mused as they trooped on, ‘that these professors are all men?’
‘You’ll get no argument from me, my dear,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Education should be open to all.’
‘And yet it is not. Such inequality is unfair.’
Jack had not thought much about women’s rights before he met Scarlet, but his mind had been slowly opened to the inequalities between the sexes. There were protests taking place with increasing regularity in England. Many women, including Emmeline Pankhurst, were fighting so that women could have the same rights as men: the right to vote, the right to education and the right to equal employment.
‘One day it will change,’ Jack said. ‘I’m sure.’
‘It can’t be soon enough for me,’ Scarlet said.
‘Although I hope it will be peaceful change,’ Mr Doyle murmured.
‘I assume you’re referring to the Valkyrie Circle?’ Scarlet asked. It was a terrorist organisation responsible for several bombings around London over the past year. ‘I hope so too.’
Two hours later they passed through a low stone wall ringing the property, continuing up a path to the front door.
Mr Doyle motioned them to stop. ‘This door is ajar,’ he said. ‘We may be too late.’
He pulled out his gun as they entered. A small antechamber lined with jackets and hats opened out onto a living room with a fire burning in the corner. It was probably cosy under normal circumstances, but now it felt sinister. Statues and African masks filled the interior while the walls were plastered with sketches of ancient cities and plans for old buildings. Mr Doyle placed a finger over his lips.
Quiet.
He pointed to a narrow staircase. Tiptoeing to the first floor, they heard a sound like drawers being opened. A dissatisfied grunt came from within.
Mr Doyle pushed the door wide. ‘It’s time we had a little talk.’
The person on the other side of the desk was the same small, black-haired man Jack had previously encountered. Now he wore a white coat and shoes. The contents of filing cabinets and the bookcase had been emptied all over the floor. The man glanced at them casually, his eyes narrowing.
‘We have nothing to discuss.’ The man might have been small, but he had a surprisingly deep voice. ‘The Broken Sun does not belong to you.’
‘Nor does it belong to you,’ Mr Doyle said, waving the gun. ‘Do not take another step.’
‘Are you afraid?’ the man asked mildly. ‘Surely you do not fear one so tiny?’
A sound came from a closed wardrobe. It diverted Mr Doyle for the briefest of moments—enough for the stranger to act. He swung about in a roundhouse kick and knocked Clarabelle away, before delivering a series of lightning-fast blows at Mr Doyle’s chest.
The detective fended them off and delivered a right cross to the man’s jaw. He staggered from the blow. At first it seemed he was about to collapse, but instead he rolled, catapulting himself between Mr Doyle’s legs and into Jack’s stomach, driving him against the wall.
Scarlet approached, fist raised, but he swept a leg under her feet and she crashed to the floor. The man kept moving, racing down the hall. Jack, sucking air into his lungs, gave chase.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The man raced along the path. It was snowing harder now; his white outfit allowed him to blend with the landscape as he disappeared between two pine trees.
Jack’s eyes searched the landscape. Then a shadow moved across the snow. Jack leapt backwards as the man slammed into the ground. He had been up one of the trees!
Jack was just in time to deflect a punch, but the man followed up with another thump to the side of his head that knocked him backwards into the snow.
Shaking off the blow, Jack raced after him. The man glanced back and now Jack saw a look of frustration cross his face.
You think you’re sick of running? Jack thought savagely. I’m sick of chasing you.
Something stirred in Jack’s gut, a sense of grim determination. The thief had bested him twice. Once, at the museum, and again on the island. They had already lost two pieces of the Broken Sun. Jack was not prepared to lose the third.
The man dashed up the hill and took the left fork in the path. He was moving more slowly now. Possibly his airship was close by.
Jack put on more speed. His head was throbbing with the exertion and the sharp sting of the cold mountain air. The ground grew steeper, but now he was less than fifty feet away.
Forty feet. Thirty…
The thief disappeared over a rise. A few seconds later, an airship leapt to full power just as Jack reached the gondola. He jumped, but his fingers missed the bottom of the gondola by inches.
Damn!
The airship climbed rapidly towards a bank of low-lying cloud. Jack watched in despair, breathing so hard he was shaking. He had come so close.
Snow drifted down from the steel-grey sky, stinging his eyes as the airship entered more cloud.
Bang! Bang!
The shots lacked aim—most likely they were fired as a warning. Jack zigzagged down the hill to some trees.
‘Damn,’ he said again. ‘Damn. Damn. Damn.’
He leaned against a trunk, filled with a despair so powerful he wanted to weep. Three times the thief had been within his grasp and three times he had escaped.
Jack shivered. The cold was starting to take hold again, despite the sweat dripping into his eyes.
His vision blurred. It looked like the ground was moving. Jack stared hard. The ground was moving. Further up the hill, it was shuddering as if a ton of popcorn had been dumped onto a dance floor. The blanket of snow covering the hill was sliding, the mountain groaning as if in pain.
‘Bazookas,’ Jack said. ‘It’s an avalanche!’
He started down the hill as the roar grew louder, balls of loose snow tumbling past him. Jack ran as fast as he could, but in his panic he had lost the path and now his legs sunk into deeper snow.
Where’s the path? he thought. I’m dead if I don’t find it.
He spotted it, a trail of stone to hi
s left, but it was too late: the entire side of the hill was racing after him like an out-of-control train.
Jack’s mind went blank.
He had to think. Think!
He had read something about avalanches, that book about mountain climbing in the library back at Bee Street. There was a strange, obscure detail that had fascinated him. What was it? He had to remember or he was going to die.
Backstroke.
The single word came to him like an explosion. He had to swim in the direction of the avalanche, but freestyle would only cause him to bury himself deeper into the snow. So he had to be counterintuitive: turn his back on the monster racing towards him and backstroke over it.
Jack threw himself backwards as the snow swept under his legs, backstroking into the current. The white mass roared past him. Onto him. Still, he forced himself to swim into the behemoth as it swept over him, pouring over his face and body, growing thicker and heavier.
He was surrounded by a choking white haze. It was all around him. Up. Down. Pressing against him from every direction, crushing him like a cold blanket. Now the roar of the avalanche had passed and a terrible silence replaced it.
With an almighty effort, Jack pulled one arm towards his face and created an air pocket. Dragging his other arm free, he burrowed out a space about a foot wide. He had to get out of here, but he wasn’t sure which way was up and which way was down.
He didn’t want to start digging in the wrong direction because he might get himself deeper into the snow. He was already freezing. And exhausted. He would be dead within minutes. He had to tunnel towards the surface, but where was that?
He spat.
Much to his relief, the drool fell immediately across his chin.
Good old gravity, he thought. And good old Miss Bloxley.
Without her, and that blasted book she had lent him, he would have had no chance at all. But he wasn’t out of danger yet. He pulled his legs towards him, rolled about and pushed down. Hard. He moved, not far, but far enough. He thrust downwards again. And again.
The air around him was running out. He had to stay calm. Panicking would only use up his precious oxygen, but his heart was racing like a roller-coaster. Jack took three deep breaths and pushed downwards again. It was impossible to tell how much snow was between him and the surface. It could be inches. Or feet.
His fingers and face were now completely numb. If he didn’t find the surface soon—
His left elbow met air.
Yes!
He pulled himself up and his head emerged. He saw grey sky and mountains. He breathed in. Air. Glorious air!
‘Jack!’ Scarlet’s voice came from nowhere.
Then Mr Doyle was dragging at him. ‘Hold on, my boy,’ he said. ‘We’ll have you out in a jiffy.’
Jack tried to mumble that he was fine, but he couldn’t form words. His lips would not work. They dragged him free and wrapped themselves around him to warm his body. There were tears in Mr Doyle’s eyes.
‘You’re safe,’ he said. ‘You’re safe, you’re safe…’
An hour later they were sitting around Professor Howard Morely’s fireplace, drinking tea. Returning to the house, they had found the professor bound and gagged in one of his closets and immediately went to his aid.
‘I owe you my life,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure how I will ever repay you.’
The professor was a small, round man, balding with a grey beard. He clenched his cup of tea with fingers too pudgy to fit through the handle.
‘No repayment is necessary,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘However, we would appreciate some information.’
‘It’s the least I can do.’
‘We have been told that some people believe the Broken Sun is actually a map that points to New Atlantis. Is there any truth in this?’
The professor clenched his jaw. ‘That was Clarke and Stein’s belief. I didn’t share in their pursuit of the mythical city. My interest was in the craftsmanship of the Broken Sun. Nothing like it has ever been found in the ancient world—and I doubt ever will be again.’
‘But Clarke and Stein were trying to find New Atlantis?’
Professor Morely nodded.
‘May I ask, then,’ Scarlet said, ‘why weren’t the pieces of the Broken Sun kept together?’
‘It was simply a matter of finance,’ the professor explained. ‘The expedition was funded by a number of sources, including the British Museum. The contract stated that any findings would be shared between the participants.
‘James Clarke and Richard Stein have spent years chasing Atlantis. Some might even call it an obsession. Ancient mysteries are like that sometimes. Intelligent people are swayed from the world of academia and science, turning instead to treasure hunts and riddles.’
Jack asked, ‘So what does the Broken Sun do?’
Morely shrugged. ‘I have no idea. It is a highly complex device. I assume the three batons lock together to form a single shaft, but we could never get them to join.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘But that’s hardly surprising given the number of combinations.’
‘What do you mean?’
Professor Morely smiled sadly. ‘Have you worked out how many possible sequences there are?’ he asked. ‘Two of the Broken Sun pieces have ten dials. The third has seven. It would take a hundred years to try every single combination.’
Mr Doyle frowned. ‘So even if the pieces were brought back together…’
‘Knowing the correct sequence would take forever.’ Morely paused. ‘Unless there is a clue to be found in the ancient legends.’
‘Who would know such a thing?’
‘I do know of someone who is an expert in the field.’
‘Who is it?’
‘A woman. She is the daughter of famed Egyptian archaeologist, Nathanial Carfax.’
Mr Doyle started, almost dropping his tea. ‘Phoebe Carfax?’
‘You know her?’
‘From my youth,’ Mr Doyle said, his face reddening. ‘I have not seen her for many years.’
‘She resides on the Greek island of Kasos. It is to her that I sent my piece of the Broken Sun.’
Scarlet, Jack and Mr Doyle stared at the professor.
‘I thought you knew,’ Morely said, surprised. ‘After I received your warning message, I sent the piece away. I thought it would be safer with Miss Carfax. I thought she might have a better chance of cracking the puzzle.’
‘I hope you won’t mind if we contact her.’
‘I believe you should.’ Professor Morely gave him Phoebe Carfax’s address. ‘She must be warned her life may be in danger.’
Mr Doyle, Jack and Scarlet made their way back over the snow-covered hills to the Lion’s Mane. Night was falling, so Mr Doyle decided to delay their departure until the next morning. Jack prepared a meal in the galley while Scarlet set the table. It was a simple dinner—rehydrated vegetables and dried chicken—but it tasted like heaven after the day’s exertions.
‘So Miss Carfax is an old friend,’ Scarlet said innocently, slicing into a piece of meat.
>
‘From your younger days,’ Jack added.
Mr Doyle blushed. ‘You are both clearly acquiring keen powers of observation.’ He smiled. ‘We were… acquaintances. I met her at Oxford University.’
‘I thought women weren’t allowed at universities?’ Scarlet said.
‘They are not. She was not a student, but her father was in charge of the Ancient History department. She learnt both from him and the university library. Even then Phoebe’s knowledge on the ancient world was unparalleled. By now she could very well be one of the world’s leading experts.’
They ate their meals and turned in for the night. The Lion’s Mane had fold-out beds in the living room and a curtain that gave each of them their own sleeping area.
The next few days passed slowly as they coasted across the continent. Down to Denmark, to Germany, Austria and over the Baltic States. It was much faster travelling by airship than over land, but it was still a long journey. By the time they reached Greece, their provisions were running dangerously low.
Mr Doyle moored the ship at the ancient city of Athens to resupply. Neither Jack nor Scarlet had visited before and they found it awe-inspiring. The city was a vast grid of narrow streets nestled around ancient hills and monuments. White buildings with red-tile roofs were crammed next to marble buildings. Columns topped with statues of Greek heroes speared up everywhere.
‘What’s that place on the hill?’ Jack asked.
‘The Acropolis,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It’s a citadel dating back to ancient times. There are many famous buildings in Greece. Possibly the most famous is the Parthenon.’
‘Isn’t that in Rome?’
‘No, that’s the Pantheon. The two are often confused,’ Mr Doyle smiled. ‘The Parthenon is a temple dedicated to the Goddess Athena.’
‘She’s known as the Goddess of Wisdom,’ Scarlet said. ‘Brinkie Buckeridge once fought a pitched battle in the Parthenon. She defeated fifty men with swords. All she had to defend herself was an umbrella and a poodle.’
