by Darrell Pitt
Mr Doyle started to sing. ‘The Minstrel Boy will return we pray. When we hear the news we all will cheer it—’
‘Kill him!’ Darrow screamed. ‘Kill him!’
The confusion cleared in Phillip’s eyes. He looked about as if waking from a dream, saw the devastation in the room, the machine men, Jack and Scarlet and finally his father.
Darrow seethed with hatred. ‘If you won’t kill him,’ he cried, spittle lacing his chin, ‘I will!’
Darrow produced a revolver. At the same time, Phillip’s eyes narrowed. A bittersweet smile played on his lips as he lifted his arms high, training his guns on the ceiling. Firing them would bring the whole roof down.
‘Run!’ Mr Doyle cried. He dragged Jack and Scarlet towards the back of the room. Jack saw George Darrow fire his gun at Phillip and the bullet ting harmlessly off his armour.
‘No!’ Darrow screeched, terror in his voice. ‘No!’
Phillip Doyle fired the grenade launchers into the ceiling.
Woompf!
Everything moved in slow motion. Jack was airborne, catapulted through the air by the blast. He hit the ground and rolled. Scarlet and Mr Doyle went sprawling. Choking through the dust, Jack looked back to see the ceiling sagging precariously.
Phillip Doyle gave them a final nod. Then the building itself seemed to moan in pain as the ceiling collapsed. A wall of dust and debris swept towards Jack as night closed in, a night without stars or moonlight, as if the whole world had been buried alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
‘I need to know everything,’ Gloria said. ‘Every last detail.’
A month had passed since the collapse in the basements of new Parliament. The building had been evacuated, and Mr Doyle and the team rescued by firemen. They had sustained minor cuts and lacerations from the explosions and falling debris.
There had been good news waiting for them at the hospital. The medication synthesised from the Sleeping Death plant had been successful in waking Gloria and Professor Clarke. Since then, the receptionist had spent weeks slowly regaining her strength before rejoining them at Bee Street. She was still dangerously thin, but the colour had at least returned to her face.
Now she was curled up on the lounge in the sitting room surrounded by pillows and blankets, ready to write up the case file, notepad in hand. Mr Doyle, Jack and Scarlet had been obeying her every whim. Jack had the feeling she was enjoying the attention—and he didn’t mind at all.
‘It’s rather a long story,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Are you sure you’re up for it?’
‘You’re treating me too much like an invalid,’ she said. ‘Oh, but do pass the cream biscuits.’
‘Well,’ Mr Doyle paused. ‘Where will I start?’
‘At the beginning,’ Gloria suggested.
‘Then we must begin with the war,’ he sighed. ‘George Darrow was a doctor during the conflict. He worked on the battlefields before being transferred to head up a convalescence unit. One of his duties was to ship men back home to recover from their injuries. England was desperate for doctors, so the authorities were not concerned with Darrow or his past.
‘If they had checked, they would have realised he had already been dismissed from two hospitals as well as the Darwinist League for illegal practices.’
‘That explains the bulls I found in the basement in Southwold,’ Jack said.
‘Indeed.’ Mr Doyle stroked his chin. ‘I do believe, however, that when George Darrow first arrived in France, he genuinely wanted to help. He undoubtedly saved many lives.’
‘So what went wrong?’ Gloria asked.
‘The war went wrong,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Darrow’s brothers were killed. All three of them. It didn’t happen at once. Rather, over a period of months, he lost them. You can understand the effect it must have had; each of them dying while he remained alive.’
‘And Sandra Darrow, his mother?’
‘She was in England, helping Darrow run the hospital. After the loss of his youngest brother, he started evacuating men from the field and sending them back to England under false names.’
‘Why?’
Mr Doyle paused. ‘It’s impossible to say exactly when he grew to hate our country. Regardless, at some point he decided to take revenge by using veterans as soldiers for his exoskeleton experiments.’
‘But…’ Gloria didn’t have the words. ‘Using men who had already lost so much? Using men who were themselves victims?’
‘These men were traumatised. In a way, they were the ideal recipients for Darrow’s brainwashing techniques: they were already addled, their minds in a state of shock and confusion. To twist them to his way of thinking was a shorter leap than for someone of sound mind.’
‘And the exoskeletons themselves?’ Gloria asked. ‘Where did they spring from?’
‘The body armour for the machine men was already being built by Darrow’s father prior to the war. He was a genius. Not only a brilliant chemist, he was also an engineer. He died just as the suits were completed.’
‘But the brainwashing process was not perfect?’
‘No. The men would carry out Darrow’s orders, but would falter at inopportune times. Darrow needed them compliant to his every command. When he heard about the legend of the Living Machine, he realised the ancient Atlanteans had exactly what he needed.’
Scarlet spoke up. ‘It’s ironic that his desire for revenge led to the discovery of New Atlantis,’ she said. ‘And, tragically, the city was destroyed.’
‘A terrible historical loss, but we are fortunate that Darrow’s secrets of mind control were also lost. He and his mother were the only ones who knew their techniques, and they died in the basement collapse.’
‘I’ll take freedom any day,’ Jack said.
‘How did Sandra Clegg—I mean, Darrow—fit into all this?’ Gloria asked. ‘She was helping her son, yet she seemed adverse to violence.’
‘I believe it was Sandra who sent the watch to Amelia,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Later, she wrote to us about the British Museum. I think she was torn between helping her son and doing what she felt was right.
‘She knew that George Darrow was building up to an attack on the government and possibly the disabled men in his care would be hurt or killed.
‘After the house in Southwold burnt down, she made some enquiries and realised her good deed had brought me into the case. Later, when Smythe joined the crew as the first mate, she enlisted as cook. I think George Darrow wanted them both there in case one was discovered.
‘On the island, Sandra slipped away, leaving a scrap of blood-soaked fabric to make it look like she’d been taken by a wild animal.’
‘How did she end up at the Houses of Parliament?’ Gloria asked.
‘There was no subterfuge involved there. She had already worked in the kitchens of new Parliament for years. On the day of the attack, she was required to drug the guards. With them out of the way, it left clear access for the machine men to enter the building.’
‘And how did you end up on the scene when Darrow broke in? What made you realise he intended attacking from underground?’
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p; ‘I had begun my rather fruitless search on the roof of new Parliament when I happened to glance across the river. There were several dilapidated warehouses on the other side. One of them was a building bearing the sign, Old Oak Industries.’ Mr Doyle took a piece of cheese from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. ‘It’s amazing what you remember when you least expect it. Why, just the other day I was thinking about penny-farthing bicycles…’
‘Mr Doyle,’ Jack said.
‘Of course.’ The detective smiled. ‘I recalled the name Darrow originates from the ancient words for “oak tree”. It meant that Darrow may have owned the building. I remembered then that a cross-city railway project had been discontinued when new Parliament was built and the line ran under the building.’
Gloria shook her head in admiration. ‘What a brain you have, Ignatius,’ she said. ‘And what about the native man who was guarding Atlantis? What was his name?’
‘Etruba,’ Jack said. ‘He and his brother were the last Atlanteans. Etruba wanted to avoid bloodshed, but Andana was prepared to do anything necessary to keep the city secret.’
‘How did they get involved with Darrow’s plan?’
‘We can’t be certain,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But they must have heard about the unearthing of the Broken Sun and followed the pieces back to England. They may have realised Darrow was watching the museum. Andana infiltrated Darrow’s group, but always had the intention to take back the Broken Sun.
‘After Andana was killed, rather than allowing the secrets of New Atlantis to fall into the hands of unbelievers, Etruba destroyed the city. He wanted to destroy the signal that was calling their gods back to Earth.’
‘But surely that’s just a legend?’ Gloria said.
‘There may be some truth in it. Jack and Scarlet’s description of the gods in the murals at New Atlantis sound remarkably like people in space suits.’
‘What?’ Jack squawked. ‘You mean people from other worlds? Men from Mars?’
‘Probably not Mars,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Maybe from much further away.’
‘I hope they’ve called off their visit,’ Gloria said, taking a sip of tea.
‘Unless they’re almost here,’ Scarlet said, glancing up at the ceiling as if expecting one to pop through.
‘Then I’ll keep the teapot warm. Just in case.’ Gloria ate a cream biscuit. ‘And finally, what about Phoebe, Clarice and Professor Clarke?’
‘Already planning another expedition,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘One that is expected to take some time. As the location of New Atlantis has been established, they now want to find a way to excavate the city.’
‘That could take years. Decades.’
‘Archaeologists are very patient people. And New Atlantis probably still holds many secrets waiting to be recovered from its watery tomb.’
‘I expect you will miss them,’ Gloria said, her eyes honing in on Mr Doyle. ‘Especially Phoebe.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘An invitation has been made for Phoebe to visit at Christmas. It would be nice to see her again.’
A knock came from the outer office.
‘Speaking of visitors…’ Jack said.
Mr Doyle rose wordlessly and left the room. Gloria leaned close to Jack and Scarlet. ‘How is he?’ she asked. ‘Ignatius seems rather…apprehensive.’
‘He’s been quieter than usual,’ Jack admitted. ‘And he hasn’t been eating as much cheese.’
Scarlet bit her bottom lip. ‘It’s not every day a man gets his family back,’ she said.
The door to the sitting room opened. Mr Doyle appeared first, followed by a small young boy. Amelia Doyle came next, pushing a wheelchair with Phillip Doyle in it.
Jason Doyle had brown hair and the same dark eyes as Mr Doyle. Amelia, since their first meeting at Harwich, seemed like a different woman. Her smile was still sad, but her eyes were bright and there was colour in her cheeks.
Phillip’s eyes were open, but unfocused. He had not spoken since he and the other machine men were recovered from Parliament. The exoskeletons had protected him and his brothers in arms.
‘I’ll make more tea,’ Gloria said.
‘No.’ Jack held up his hand. ‘I’ll do that.’
As he made a fresh pot, he wondered what the future would hold for them all. Certainly it would not all be smooth sailing. The damage to Phillip’s mind might take years to repair.
Jack returned with the teapot. Scarlet was handing the plate of biscuits around. Amelia had her arm over Phillip’s shoulder.
Scarlet looked up at Jack. ‘We were just discussing the importance of reading,’ she said. ‘I was just telling everyone about the Brinkie Buckeridge novels.’
‘She does that a lot,’ Jack told the group. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
Jason placed his hand on Mr Doyle’s arm. ‘May I have another biscuit, please?’ he asked.
‘Of course, my boy.’ The detective looked ten years younger with his family around. Biscuits were offered and accepted. ‘Your mother tells me you love to sing?’
‘I’m in the church choir.’
Mr Doyle nodded thoughtfully. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘there’s a song I used to sing to your father. Would you like to hear it?’
‘Yes, please,’ the boy said.
‘Jason has a very good voice,’ Amelia said. ‘He’s often chosen to sing solo.’
‘Really?’ Mr Doyle looked delighted. ‘Then perhaps we’ll sing it together.’
He hummed a few bars to get them started, then began to softly sing.
‘The Minstrel Boy will return we pray. When we hear the news we all will cheer it—’
He stopped. Another voice, a low whisper, had joined him, and they all turned in astonishment. Phillip Doyle’s eyes were still unfocused, but from somewhere deep inside him, from a place that the war and George Darrow had not been able to reach, came the words. Like an echo from a life that was, they signalled a life that could finally be.
‘The Minstrel Boy will return one day,’ Phillip sang. ‘Torn perhaps in body, not in spirit.’
