by Darrell Pitt
PRAISE FOR THE JACK MASON ADVENTURES
‘A fun story, easy to read and full of action… Bonus points for being the first kids’ book of its kind I’ve come across that gives mention to the suffragettes!’ Books+Publishing
‘Lots of mechanical mayhem and derring-do—breathless stuff.’ Michael Pryor
‘Non-stop action, non-stop adventure, non-stop fun!’ Richard Harland
‘Set in a fantastical London, filled with airships, steam cars and metrotowers stretching into space, this fast-paced adventure and homage to the world of Victorian literature and Conan Doyle offers an enjoyable roller-coaster read for fans of Artemis Fowl and the Lemony Snicket series…[a] rollicking who-dunnit that will keep young Sherlocks guessing to the very end.’ Magpies
‘Charming, witty and intelligently written… This series no doubt will be a huge hit for early teens, the writing is intelligent and Darrell Pitt has created characters that challenge and provoke readers to invest in the storyline.’ Diva Booknerd
THE JACK MASON ADVENTURES
Book I The Firebird Mystery
Book II The Secret Abyss
Book III The Broken Sun
Book IV The Monster Within
DARRELL PITT began his lifelong appreciation of Victorian literature when he read the Sherlock Holmes stories as a child, quickly moving on to H. G. Wells and Jules Verne. This early reading led to a love of comics, science fiction and all things geeky. Darrell is now married with one daughter. He lives in Melbourne.
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Copyright © Darrell Pitt 2015
The moral rights of Darrell Pitt have been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
First published in 2015 by The Text Publishing Company
Design by WH Chong
Cover illustration by Eamon O’Donoghue
Typeset by J&M Typesetting
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Author: Pitt, Darrell
Title: The monster within: a Jack Mason adventure / by Darrell Pitt.
ISBN: 9781922182876 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781925095777 (ebook)
Target Audience: For young adults.
Subjects: Detective and mystery stories.
Dewey Number: A823.4
This project has been assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
To Rob
THE MONSTER WITHIN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Ka-boom!
The shockwave hit Jack Mason like a locomotive. One moment he was buying an apple from a fruit cart on Carmody Street, the next he was thrown to the ground.
Jack sat up, his ears ringing. Bodies were littered across the ground and fruit had been strewn across the pavement. Next to him, an awning had caught fire.
What happened? Where am I? How did I get here?
Jack furrowed his brow, for a moment utterly dazed by the blast. He was fourteen years old, an assistant to Ignatius Doyle, the world-famous detective, and he lived in London. After picking up a parcel from the post office, which contained a model of a famous space steamer, Carpathia, Jack had been enjoying the first day of summer.
But he hadn’t been alone. Someone had been with him…
Scarlet Bell.
She was his friend and also an assistant to Mr Doyle. A year older than Jack, Scarlet had bright red hair. A few minutes before the blast she had gone to buy a hair comb from MacMillan’s—an immaculate haberdashery across the road. Now the shopfront window had fallen in and a girl with red hair lay motionless on the footpath.
‘No, please,’ Jack moaned. ‘Not Scarlet.’
Extricating himself from the fruit, he started across the road. Someone screamed a warning and he threw himself backwards as a shrieking, out-of-control horse flew past, missing him by inches.
Reaching the girl, he turned her over. It wasn’t Scarlet. The stranger stirred, rubbing her head. ‘Where am I?’ she asked. ‘What happened?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ Jack replied.
MacMillan’s front door had been blasted right off its hinges. Inside, the shop was in disarray, with glass everywhere and mannequins lying in an untidy pile of arms and legs. When they started to move, for one mad moment Jack thought they had come to life.
‘What on earth happened?’ came a voice.
Scarlet had a heart-shaped face and wore a pale-blue dress. A hat now sat lopsided on her head. She dragged it off. ‘One moment I was looking at myself in the mirror—’ she began.
‘There’s been an explosion,’ Jack explained. ‘I don’t think it’s an accident.’
The proprietress had been hiding behind the counter. After checking her condition, Jack and Scarlet went back outside, where steam-driven ambulances were now arriving, as was a fire engine. The media had gathered too; a photographer was setting up a camera on a tripod as a journalist asked questions.
Jack and Scarlet made their way to the centre of the blast, a six-foot hole in the middle of the street. Two injured horses lay nearby.
Scarlet grabbed Jack’s hand. ‘Mrs Gregg,’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘The fabric woman. I’ve been buying buttons from her for years. I need to make sure she’s all right.’ Scarlet’s eyes scanned the carnage. ‘Oh no.’
She pointed. The sign hanging over the front window
had read Mrs Gregg’s Button Shop, but the lower half of it had been torn away. The entire front brickwork, glass and all, had been obliterated. Scarlet started towards the gap.
Jack made a grab for her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The building might collapse.’
But Scarlet pulled free and climbed over rubble into the store, leaving Jack no choice but to follow. The interior was in ruins. The buttons, once held in hundreds of bottles lining the walls, now lay everywhere. Other debris littered the floor.
A motionless figure lay among the destruction—an elderly woman, with a single coin-sized wound in the middle of her chest. She looked so peaceful she could have been asleep.
‘She’s gone,’ Scarlet said, checking her pulse. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jack said, feeling inadequate. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I’ve known her for years.’
Jack’s own parents had been killed in an accident at the circus where they worked as acrobats. He still felt a sharp pain in his chest whenever he thought of them—the grief never left him. He looked back to the street. A little girl stood on the other side, a motionless body at her feet. ‘Scarlet,’ he said. ‘Someone outside needs help.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Are you sure?’
She wiped a tear from her face. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can’t do anything here.’
They crossed the street. The girl was about six years old, her eyes wide with shock. It was her mother on the footpath, a piece of metal in her side. She was bleeding badly.
‘We need to put direct pressure on this,’ Scarlet said to the mother, tearing off a piece of her dress and pressing it around the wound. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Emily,’ the woman said, her voice shaking. ‘My daughter, Catherine, is she all right?’
‘She’s fine. Help is on the way.’
Jack turned his attention to the little girl. ‘Catherine,’ he said. ‘My name’s Jack. Your mother has been in an accident, but she’s going to be fine.’
‘There was a big bang,’ Catherine said. Her face was covered in dust and smoke. A timber splinter a foot long hung from the bottom of her dress. A few inches higher and it would have killed her. ‘Mummy fell down.’
Two more steam ambulances pulled into the street. Everywhere, people were giving assistance, doing what they could to help.
Jack wiped a smear from his face. Blood. A cut ran across his forehead from the explosion. His eyes shifted to the London Metrotower, a structure that speared all the way into space.
It was business as usual elsewhere, but terror had arrived on Carmody Street and the people here would never forget this day. They may have lost loved ones. Friends. Brothers. Sisters. Some people’s lives would never be the same again.
‘Who made the big bang?’ Catherine asked. ‘Who did it?’
Jack didn’t answer, but he had a pretty good idea.
CHAPTER TWO
‘The Valkyrie Circle is a terrorist organisation,’ Ignatius Doyle said. ‘And they must be stopped.’
Jack and Scarlet were in the sitting room of 221 Bee Street. It was the strangest home Jack had ever seen, as if someone had decided to collect unusual items from across the globe and cram them together in one place. There was no rhyme or reason to the belongings, the latest acquisitions being a desk that had once belonged to Louis IV, twelve paintings of boots painted by someone named Vincent, and an organ from a church that had burnt down in Plymouth.
Huddled between these items were visitors to the apartment: Inspector Greystoke from Scotland Yard, Edwina Dudley from the Primrose Society, an organisation that fought for women’s right to vote, and her quiet husband, Warren Dudley, the owner of a pharmaceutical company.
A full day had passed since the bombing in Carmody Street. Two people had been killed and more than a hundred injured.
‘No-one would disagree with you,’ Mrs Dudley said. She was a large woman, around sixty years old, and wore a voluminous green dress. ‘But the Valkyrie Circle is only one organisation. The Primrose Society, on the other hand, is dedicated to peaceful change, as are dozens of other similar groups.’
‘I’m not suggesting the Primrose Society is involved in the bombings,’ Mr Doyle said.
‘I know you’re not, but others are.’
Greystoke spoke up. ‘Scotland Yard does not believe your organisation has done anything wrong.’
‘But the new laws proposed by the government will make every suffragette organisation illegal,’ Mrs Dudley said. She turned to her husband. ‘William?’
Mr Dudley, bespeckled, and skinny as a twig, produced the front page of The Times. It depicted a woman being arrested by police for picketing on the street. ‘Surely any fair-minded individual would agree this to be preposterous,’ he said.
‘That is unfortunate,’ Greystoke admitted.
‘More than unfortunate. The banning of organisations such as the Primrose Society sets the women’s rights movement back years,’ Mrs Dudley said. ‘It labels us as dangerous radicals.’
Jack caught Scarlet’s eye. She was a firm believer in women’s rights; that they should have the vote, equal representation in parliament and the same employment opportunities as men. Initially, Jack hadn’t thought much about it, but his friendship with Scarlet had gradually opened his eyes.
‘And this establishes a dangerous precedent,’ Mrs Dudley continued, ‘declaring the assembly of twenty women or more to be unlawful. Groups of more than ten in a peaceful march can be arrested without charge. Women can be issued with an order to not leave their homes.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If we start infringing upon the rights of one part of society, how long will it be before other sections are similarly persecuted?’
‘I cannot disagree with you,’ Greystoke said, turning to Mr Doyle. ‘What do you think, Ignatius? You must have some thoughts on the matter.’
‘I do.’ Mr Doyle took a piece of mouldy cheese from his pocket, sniffing it dubiously before popping it into his mouth. ‘It seems to me that the Valkyrie Circle has operated in a rather uncharacteristic fashion.’
‘If you can call blowing people up uncharacteristic,’ Jack muttered. ‘It sounds more insane to me.’
‘The organisation has been operating for about ten years,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘For most of that time, it has been peaceful: sending letters to newspapers, painting the letters VC in public places all over London.’ His face clouded over. ‘But all that changed twelve months ago when the first bomb exploded.’
Jack had seen the letters painted a hundred times over the last year. He had seen them so many times, he had stopped noticing them.
‘This attack coincided with a change in leadership,’ Mr Doyle continued. ‘Its new leader is a woman by the name of Lady Death.’
Lady Death, Jack thought. What a terrible name.
‘We have never been able to get a description of her,’ Greystoke said. ‘On the rare occasion when we’ve arrested a woman painting their trademark on a wall, she claims to be working alone.’
‘Which is probably true,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘The Valkyrie Circle may be very small, but it has inspired
many more to carry out violent acts in its name.’
‘There have since been seven other bombings,’ Greystoke added. ‘And they’re becoming more frequent and deadly. It was a miracle the Carmody Street bombing did not take more lives.’
‘But taking away the democratic freedom of an individual is wrong,’ Warren Dudley said. ‘And where will it end?’
Greystoke was stuck for words. Clearly he was inclined to agree with at least some of what the Dudleys had to say. Casting a helpless glance at Mr Doyle, he said, ‘I must follow the rules as laid down by my superiors. My hands are tied.’
‘Surely you can do something to help,’ Mrs Dudley said to Mr Doyle. ‘Investigate these crimes. Bring the Valkyrie Circle to justice—for everyone’s sake.’
Mr Doyle nodded. ‘I will do what I can,’ he said. ‘The people behind these bombings must be brought to justice. And I agree with you: the new laws suggested by the government are unjust. It is just as important—probably more so—to protect the innocent.’
The Dudleys rose to their feet. Mr Doyle told them he would be in touch and showed them out.
‘Just between us,’ Inspector Greystoke said on his return, ‘there are two other items I would like to discuss.’
‘Of course.’
‘We have a clue, but we have not been able to do anything about it. As you know, dynamite has been used for each detonation. Some of the bombs have been the size of small parcels, others as big as a truck.
‘The third bomb placed by the Valkyrie Circle did not detonate.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘We kept its existence secret so we could use it as evidence in court. Placed in a letterbox in central London, the device failed to detonate properly, and we were left with a mostly intact bomb.’
‘What did you find?’ Jack asked.
‘The timing device is quite sophisticated. And quite distinctive. Unlike many timers that are modified clocks, this one was built from scratch.’
