For a few seconds, the only sound was the wind buffeting against them. Gerald could feel Ruby’s heart pounding through her back.
His head was right next to hers; her blonde hair was brushing his cheek. ‘You okay?’ he whispered into her ear.
The screech of a passing seagull drowned out most of Ruby’s reply, but Gerald was left in no doubt about how much rock climbing she would be doing in the near future.
They made it to the ground and watched Sam avoid the probing searchlight as he scrambled down to join them.
‘That was a bit of fun,’ he said. ‘Anyone want to do it again?’ He looked at Ruby. Her dishevelled hair was draped across her face and her shirt was a ragged mess of cuts and tears. ‘What happened to you?’
Ruby blew a long stream of air through her nostrils like a dragon trying to flick start its fire. She told Sam her thoughts in words of one syllable.
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re not the trembling maiden now, then,’ he said.
Gerald tried not to laugh. ‘The tide’s out far enough. If we keep to the side of the causeway we can run in shadow. They won’t be able to see us from the top.’
They crept along the rocks away from the ramp and towards the road that linked the island to mainland France. They’d only gone ten metres when Sam stopped. ‘Hey, look at this,’ he said. He pointed to a large wire cage, easily big enough to hold the three of them. It sat on a concrete platform next to a control box and was linked to the abbey high above by a cable and winch. ‘Maybe the monk wanted us to use this?’
Ruby’s eyes bulged.
The seagull swooped overhead again, its cry just in time to mask her response.
Chapter 12
Gerald woke with a jolt. He straightened in his seat and wiped a trail of drool from the corner of his mouth. He’d been slumped on Sam’s shoulder. Sam snuffled a protest at being disturbed and rolled over against the armrest.
The bus was speeding along a motorway, making good time in the pre-dawn traffic. Through the window Gerald could make out a cloudless sky lightening in the east. He blinked and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Rolling his shoulders as best he could without bumping Sam, he tried to get the blood flowing again.
Across the aisle the rumpled form of Ruby lay curled across two seats, fast asleep. A light snore buzzed over the drone of the bus engine.
The only light in the coach was the glow from the dashboard. Gerald glanced down the length of the bus at the rearview mirror above the driver’s head and the green-blue reflection of the man’s face. The driver had seemed relaxed enough at picking up three thirteen-year-old foreigners at two in the morning from the roadside bus stop. But now Gerald wasn’t so sure. Was the driver flicking his eyes up to the mirror to keep tabs on them? Gerald had an uneasy feeling.
He looked at his watch. Probably another hour before they reached Paris.
It had taken two hours to walk the ten kilometres from Mont-Saint-Michel to the small town near the motorway. Gerald, Ruby and Sam were the only ones at the bus stop when the coach pulled in. Ruby had been adamant that they should go to Paris.
‘All we’ve got is that old book and something about the Tower of the Winds,’ she’d said. ‘There are as many bookshops in Paris as bakeries; a bookshop is the best place I can think of to find out something about this book.’
Gerald hadn’t been so sure. But it was better than any suggestion he could come up with.
He watched as Ruby stirred in the bus seat. She struggled upright and wiped a hand across her face. Her hair was plastered over her eyes and stuck up at the back so she looked like a turkey. ‘Wozhappenin?’ She blinked as the first sunrays appeared over the horizon.
‘You’re not a morning person, are you?’ Gerald said.
Sam propped his head on the armrest. ‘I’m starving,’ he said, not bothering to open his eyes.
‘There’s a surprise,’ Ruby said.
‘No, I’m serious. If we don’t get food soon, I’m going to start on these seat cushions.’
‘We can get breakfast in Paris,’ Gerald said. ‘But we’ll have to go easy on the money. We can’t risk using the credit card. You can bet Jarvis has issued an alert through the banks.’ He glanced at the rearview mirror. A set of eyes seemed to be staring back at him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘We have to keep our heads down.’
Sam’s stomach rumbled. ‘Just as long as this head has something to chew on,’ he said, ‘I really don’t care.’
They arrived in Paris and took the Metro to the Latin Quarter, joining the crush of students and workers making their way to the university and the shopping precinct.
‘We came here last summer,’ Ruby said to Gerald as they settled into a booth in a tiny cafe. ‘Dad loves exploring the bookshops around here.’
‘The only reading material I’m interested in is the menu,’ Sam said, reaching for the plastic folder on the table. They ordered hot chocolates and croissants, and an enormous ham omelette for Sam.
Half an hour later, and feeling light-headed after gorging on pastries and jam, Gerald, Sam and Ruby lounged back in their seats.
‘That feels better,’ Sam said, a hand resting on his belly. ‘At least till lunch time.’
‘Where’s the book, Gerald?’ Ruby said. ‘Let’s have another look at it.’
Gerald pulled the red leather volume from his backpack and laid it on the table among the cups and plates. The gilt edging on the pages glittered in the sunlight that filtered through the cafe windows.
Ruby opened the cover. The first page had been torn out and the other pages were covered in tiny close-set type. ‘I can’t follow any of this,’ she said.
‘There must be something important in there,’ Gerald said. ‘Otherwise, why would the monks have hidden it with the ruby casket?’
‘If only one of those monks had tapped us on the shoulder and told us what was going on,’ Sam said.
Gerald ran his fingers through his hair, which was still matted from the saltwater drenching in the grotto under the island. ‘I get the feeling we’re going to have to nut this out for ourselves.’
The waitress came over and started clearing away the breakfast plates. A cup tumbled over in its saucer as she lifted it, dribbling chocolate over the book.
‘Ah!’ she cried. ‘Je suis désolée. I am so sorry.’ She deposited the dishes on another table and picked up the book, dabbing at it with a cloth.
‘It’s all right,’ Gerald said, reaching out for the volume. ‘I can do it.’
‘Non, monsieur. It is my fault. I will clean it.’ As she fumbled with the spine, the book fanned open, and Gerald almost choked on his tongue. As the pages parted a fraction, an image appeared for an instant across the length of the gilt edges.
Gerald stared dumbstruck at the picture that had formed seemingly from nowhere. Then the waitress flattened the book again and the image disappeared, hidden behind the curtain of gold.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Like new.’
Gerald waited for the waitress to return to the kitchen before he said anything.
‘Did you see that?’ he whispered.
‘See what?’ Ruby asked.
‘All I saw was someone doing themselves out of a tip,’ Sam said.
Gerald ruffled the book, twisting the spine until the cover slid back and the page edges receded.
‘This,’ he said.
The gold edging fanned open and a vivid colour illustration morphed into view.
Sam’s mouth dropped open. ‘That’s incredible,’ he said.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Ruby said to Sam. A few diners had turned to look their way. Gerald, Ruby and Sam hunched in close over the table.
The illustrated fore edge of the book stood out with stark clarity.
‘It’s the inside of a room,’ Gerald said. ‘With a bunch of art on the walls.’
‘An art gallery, maybe?’ Ruby said.
‘What do you think this is?’ Gerald pointed to a gold lin
e that spanned from the top of a wall on one side of the room to the bottom of the opposite wall.
‘There’s some writing,’ Ruby said. ‘Do you still have that pen?’
Gerald felt around inside his pack and handed the pen to Ruby. She took a paper serviette and wrote something on it. ‘Close the book,’ she told Gerald, before beckoning the waitress to come over. Gerald straightened the spine and the painting disappeared.
‘That is so cool,’ Sam said.
‘Quiet, dopey,’ Ruby said. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the waitress, ‘can you tell me what this means?’ Ruby handed the serviette to the young woman who looked at the scribbled writing.
‘La Tour des Vents?’ the waitress said. ‘It is the Tower of the Winds.’
There was an electric silence around the table.
They declined more hot chocolate. Gerald counted out some money for the meal and they bustled out to the street, walking and talking over each other in a stumbling jumble of feet and words.
‘The Tower of the Winds!’ Ruby couldn’t keep her voice down. ‘This puts us one step ahead of Charlotte.’
‘The clue wasn’t in the book,’ Gerald said, trying to contain his excitement. ‘It was on the book.’
‘But why would they hide the book and the casket together?’ Sam asked.
‘It has to have something to do with Lucius,’ Ruby said. ‘Or some story he told those original monks who helped him.’
‘What? And centuries later some other monks decided to paint a picture about it in a book? I don’t know.’
‘That has to be it,’ Gerald said. ‘Something Lucius told them. Something about the ruby casket.’
‘So the room in the illustration—is it inside the Tower of the Winds, do you think?’ Ruby said. ‘Is that where all this has been leading?’
‘Charlotte wanted to know about it, so it must be important,’ Gerald said.
‘There might be another clue hidden there,’ Sam said. ‘If we can find it, we find the final treasure.’
Gerald stopped walking.
Sam and Ruby continued on a few paces before coming to a halt. Ruby looked back at Gerald.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked him.
‘I’m only interested in finding Charlotte so we can hand her over to the police and get me off their most-wanted list,’ Gerald said. ‘I’m not looking for any buried treasure.’
There was an awkward silence.
Ruby brushed past her brother, flicking him an annoyed glance on the way, and put her arm through Gerald’s. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘That’s what we all want.’
‘I think we need to be really definite on this,’ Gerald said. ‘Charlotte and her dead uncle may have been obsessed by some priceless treasure, but I’m not. Great Aunt Geraldine wanted me to find her killer and we did that. I just want some normality back in my life, okay?’ He looked first to Sam, and then to Ruby.
Ruby was still clinging to his arm, smiling at him. ‘Of course,’ she said again and squeezed his hand for emphasis. Her smile seemed to go on for longer than was really necessary.
‘Yeah, okay,’ Gerald said. ‘How do we find this Tower of the Winds?’
‘Why don’t we ask somebody?’ Sam said.
Ruby tilted her head and studied her brother for a second. ‘You know what? That might be the smartest thing you’ve ever said.’
Sam managed to look pleased and insulted at the same time.
‘We’re in a neighbourhood with more booksellers per block than anywhere else on the planet,’ Ruby said. ‘One of them is bound to know something.’
The next four hours were spent proving just how wrong Ruby could be. Gerald, Ruby and Sam stumbled out of yet another bookshop, footsore and frustrated, and no closer to finding anything of use.
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Sam said as they stood disconsolate on the footpath.
‘We’ve got to think of something else,’ Gerald said. ‘Why don’t we phone Professor McElderry?’
‘Oh, sure,’ Ruby said. ‘And you don’t think Inspector Jarvis has tapped the professor’s phone? The police would be onto us in a heartbeat.’ She looked across the narrow laneway. ‘There’s one more shop over there,’ she said. ‘Let’s give it a try.’
Gerald dragged himself across the street.
A bell on a spring above the ancient wooden door jangled as they entered the shop. After the bright sunshine outside, it was like stumbling into a cave. Heavy curtains were drawn across the windows and a strong odour of tobacco smoke seemed to leach out of the woodwork. The tiny space was crammed with wooden bookcases, the shelves in turn stuffed with mouldering volumes of all sizes. What light there was came from tall lamps dotted around the store like mushroom tops in a fairytale forest. A haze of dust motes danced in their yellow light.
Ruby wrinkled her nose. ‘What a smell,’ she said. ‘It’s as stale as Sam’s sock drawer.’
‘No wonder,’ Gerald said. ‘Everything looks about a million years old.’
‘Including the owner,’ Sam whispered. ‘Check her out.’
A woman as vintage as any of the books on display perched bird-like on a tall stool behind a counter at the rear of the shop. Her skin, her clothes and her hair were all stained the same nicotine sepia. Her head was bowed over a book and a cigarette smouldered between her fingers.
She didn’t lift her eyes from the page.
‘Oui?’ It was a greeting to make an Eskimo shiver.
Gerald gave Ruby a shunt in the back. ‘Your turn to ask.’
Ruby stumbled as she lurched towards the counter. ‘Uh, hello,’ she said, righting herself as she reached the woman. ‘Bonjour.’
The woman at the counter raised her head and looked at Ruby over a pair of brown-framed glasses that were attached to a chain around her neck.
‘Yes?’
‘Um…we’re trying to find out about this book,’ Ruby said, holding up the red-leather volume. ‘And some place called the Tower of the Winds. Have you heard of it?’
The woman put the cigarette to her lips and drew in an impossibly deep lungful of smoke. She studied Ruby over the rims of her glasses, paused, then expelled the pungent contents of her lungs into the air.
‘Do I look like the tourist bureau?’ she rasped.
‘No, of course not,’ Ruby said. ‘Anything but. Though, that’s not to say it’s not a welcoming place you have here. It’s very nice. Très bon, even. It’s just that we’re looking for the Tower of the Winds, and it’s mentioned in this really old book and we thought you might know something about it. Not that you’re really old. Though of course you are, but, um, in a good way…’ Ruby’s voice petered out to a smile of embarrassment.
The woman glared at Ruby. Then clicked her fingers and pointed to the book.
‘Old in a good way?’ Sam whispered in Ruby’s ear after she’d handed the book to the woman. ‘Nice.’
Ruby pressed her lips together and Gerald could see she was struggling to stay quiet.
The woman bent her face close to the cover, paying particular attention to Gerald’s family crest. She flicked a lamp on and it shone a yellow spot on the countertop.
‘Where did you get this?’ the woman asked with practised indifference.
‘It was a gift,’ Gerald said quickly, stepping up beside Ruby. ‘From some, uh, old friends of my family.’
The woman shot him a sceptical glance, then expertly twisted the spine to reveal the illustration.
‘As I thought,’ she said. ‘Fore edge painting. Possibly eighteenth century. An artistic folly: a little bit of fun and nonsense. But this one has so much detail.’ She opened a desk drawer and rummaged inside, finally pulling out a magnifying glass. She tipped the edge of the book forward. ‘You notice the imagery used here: the clock face on the ceiling, both hands pointed to twelve. A time of transition, moving from one state to another. The white line across the floor, dividing the room in two. Representing the division between good and evil, perhaps? A line that should no
t be crossed. The text here, identifying this as the Tower of the Winds. The frescoes— forest scenes, ancient buildings—reproduced with such precision, such joie de vivre.’ She closed the book and ran her fingertips across the cover. ‘It is a particularly fine piece.’
‘But do you know anything about the Tower of the Winds?’ Gerald asked.
The woman lowered herself from the stool and crossed to a cabinet by the rear wall. She removed a key from her pocket, unlocked a sliding door and pulled out a worn manuscript tied with a red ribbon. ‘This may give us some answers,’ she said.
She placed the manuscript on the counter and returned to her perch. A cloud of dust was liberated into the air as she untied the ribbon. She ran her bony finger down the page. ‘Ah,’ she said, flicking further into the manuscript. ‘Now this is interesting.’
Gerald craned his neck, trying to see what the woman was looking at. She leaned over the papers, blocking his view with her folded arms. ‘Now perhaps you could tell me exactly how you obtained this book?’ she said, fixing Gerald with a penetrating stare.
‘We didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean,’ Gerald said, trying to look innocent. ‘It was a gift. Like I said.’
The woman didn’t blink. ‘Who said anything about stealing?’ She stroked the cover again, trailing her stained fingers across the leather. ‘I assume you’re interested in selling?’
Gerald titled his head. ‘No, not really. It’s a family heirloom.’
The woman arched an eyebrow. ‘Well, in that case,’ she said, ‘we won’t be needing this.’ She pulled the manuscript together and started tying up the ribbon.
Gerald clenched his fists. He didn’t have a choice.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’ll sell it.’ A sinking feeling rocked in the pit of his stomach. ‘Now, what does it say in there about the Tower of the Winds?’
The Mask of Destiny Page 12
