The Monster Within

by Darrell Pitt

  ‘What do you make of all this?’ Mr Doyle asked.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ he said. ‘Very tasty.’

  ‘I meant the case.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It seems odd that Tockly has vanished,’ Scarlet said. ‘He may even have been kidnapped.’

  ‘Should we tell the police?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s much we could tell them,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘We can’t even be sure he was Joe Tockly. Whoever he was, he certainly wanted to protect his anonymity.’

  ‘So what will we do now?’

  ‘We would seem to have only one lead. I suggest we make our way to Ciutat Vella.’

  They boarded another bus and crossed the city. It was late in the day by the time they reached the district on the east side, near the sea. The buildings here were older and free of the Gaudi influence.

  Leaving the bus, they followed an avenue known as La Rambla.

  After several minutes, they reached Angel’s Bar, which was tucked between a pharmacy and a fruit shop, both now closed. Mr Doyle pushed the front door open and they stepped inside.

  Smoke filled the air. Several patrons were slouched in booths—they looked like they hadn’t seen the light of day for weeks.

  After Mr Doyle ordered lemonades, they found an empty booth.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Jack asked.

  ‘We wait.’

  The next few hours went slowly. Patience was not one of Jack’s strong points, though Scarlet was more than pleased to pass the time regaling him with Brinkie’s latest adventures. She was particularly excited about a model she had recently purchased of the one hundred storey home where Brinkie lived. Jack had seen it in her room. The box took pride of place in the middle of the floor, still unopened.

  ‘The finished piece is quite detailed,’ she said. ‘Brinkie’s house, Thorbridge, sits atop an atoll off the Scottish coast called Skull Island. There are more than a thousand pieces, including rubber plants you can stick into the ground.’

  ‘A thousand pieces. Sounds like hard work.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she enthused. ‘It will be great fun.’

  ‘Hard to imagine that many people would want to own a model of her house.’

  ‘You read the first novel,’ Scarlet sighed. ‘Surely you can appreciate it as fine literature?’

  Jack wasn’t sure he’d describe it that way. ‘I think she needs some zombies,’ he said. ‘Or aliens. An outer space adventure would be exciting.’

  ‘That’s silly. Brinkie isn’t an astronaut.’

  ‘But she could go to the moon. Maybe even to Mars and fight the Martian hoards.’

  ‘I don’t think there are any Martian hoards,’ Scarlet said, rolling her eyes. ‘But you can always write to Baroness Zakharov. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.’

  Jack was offended. ‘Maybe she would like to hear from me,’ he said. ‘She might be running out of ideas.’

  ‘Baroness Zakharov will never run out of ideas. She’s an ideas factory. They come as easily to her as mosquitoes to blood.’

  Mr Doyle intervened. ‘I believe we may have a lead,’ he said. ‘Someone in the corner has been watching us.’

  He nodded discretely towards a small, dark-haired man with a grey moustache. The man made his way to the door and motioned them towards the exit.

  Mr Doyle paid their bill and they followed him into a back alley, a dead end illuminated by a single gas lamp and lined with rubbish bins. The man was nowhere to be seen.

  Then five men, their features in shadow, burst from another doorway. Scarlet immediately reached for the door they had just stepped through, but it was locked.

  They were trapped.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A clatter came from behind as the door to the bar suddenly flew open. A man appeared.

  ‘Quickly!’ he said. ‘Inside!’

  Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle fled with the men in pursuit, the door slamming shut behind them. The stranger produced a bar and levered it across the handle, locking it in place. Another man lay unconscious on the floor at his feet.

  ‘He was with them,’ he explained, grabbing Mr Doyle’s arm. ‘Hurry. It’s no safer in here.’

  They passed through the bar, the barman giving them a sour look. Jack saw someone with an eye patch start to rise from a nearby table, but the barman gave him a nod. A moment later Jack and the others were back on the main street among the crowds.

  ‘I was watching you in there,’ the stranger said. ‘I thought there’d be trouble.’

  He spoke perfect English. He was stocky, with tattoos on his arms of a mermaid and an anchor.

  ‘I assume you weren’t in there by accident,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘Obviously an agent with some government organisation. I would guess, MI5.’

  ‘You guess correctly.’ The man introduced himself as John Fleming. ‘Scotland Yard may have compunctions about crossing country borders, but MI5 has no such concerns. You’d best tell me what you know.’

  ‘I’m happy to share information, as long as if flows both ways.’

  They stopped at another café. After ordering drinks, Mr Doyle told Fleming what he knew, but it was not much.

  The agent nodded. ‘So Tick-Tock is behind this,’ he said. ‘We suspected as much.’

  ‘It’s interesting that MI5 is taking such an interest in the Valkyrie Circle,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘You said the agency is unhappy with Scotland Yard running this investigation?’

  ‘Terrorism is best handled by MI5. Getting Scotland Yard involved is one thing, but now there’s this new Wolf Pack.’

  ‘We were told a little about it.’

  ‘Getting amateurs involved is a bad thing,’ Fleming said. ‘And most of the Wolf Pack couldn’t tell the difference between a dragonfly and a dragon.’

  ‘What do you know about the Valkyrie Circle, Mr Fleming?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘Only that it has become more radicalised since Lady Death took over. We’ve tried infiltrating the suffragette organisations in England, but with little success.’

  Scarlet bristled. ‘It’s probably difficult when you don’t have female agents,’ she said. ‘But why are you investigating peaceful organisations such as the Primrose Society? They haven’t done anything.’

  Jack wanted to get the conversation back on track. ‘So what do you know about Joe Tockly?’ he asked. ‘Do you know where he’s gone?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘But you have an idea,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I assume you’re the person who broke into his apartment before us.’

  ‘I may have been there on a reconnaissance mission,’ he admitted. ‘Look, there wasn’t much to find, but there was a map under a rug.’

  ‘Showing what?’

  ‘Alhambra.’

  Mr Doyle turned to Jack and Scarlet. ‘Do you know where that is?’ he asked.

  ‘Uh,’ Jack said. ‘Is it near Abracadabra?’

 
‘It is not. No, Alhambra is an ancient palace first built in the ninth century, with extensions added over the last millennia. A masterpiece of Islamic construction, it is required visiting for any tourist.’ He turned to Fleming. ‘And why do you think Tockly had an interest in Alhambra?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe he just visited there, but he may have had another agenda.’

  ‘Hmm, I suggest we take a trip ourselves,’ Mr Doyle said.

  Fleming agreed, and they arranged to meet again the next morning.

  Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle found a steamcab and returned to their hotel. Scarlet cornered Jack before he climbed into bed.

  ‘There is something I want to suggest,’ she said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You remember I mentioned the model to you?’

  ‘Model?’

  ‘Of Brinkie’s home.’

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘I must confess to not having had much success with model-making,’ Scarlet said, blushing. ‘You remember my Eiffel Tower?’

  Jack remembered it all too well. He had offered to help Scarlet put the three foot high structure together, but she had refused. Several days into construction, she had emerged from her bedroom with the tower super-glued to her head. Apparently she had leant over at the wrong moment and it had become attached. It had taken Jack, Gloria and Mr Doyle more than an hour to find a solvent to unstick her.

  ‘How can I forget?’ he said. ‘But I thought you wanted to keep it in pristine condition. You know, as a collector’s item.’

  She shrugged. ‘Looking at the completed model would be far more interesting,’ she said. I was thinking you could help me. I could describe each of the floors in detail and slowly go through every single adventure as we build it. It would be great fun.’

  ‘What part of that would be great fun?’

  Rolling her eyes, Scarlet left without saying another word. Jack tried reading a guidebook about Spain before climbing into bed, but it didn’t take long for his mind to return to Scarlet. Not only was she the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but she had fast become his best friend.

  Best friends can get married, can’t they?

  The next morning they returned to the Lion’s Mane to find John Fleming waiting for them.

  ‘I don’t recall mentioning where our airship was parked,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘I’m MI5,’ Fleming said. ‘We’re supposed to know things like that.’

  They boarded the airship and took off. John Fleming settled next to a window in the main cabin with Jack and Scarlet. Jack had read a book recently about MI5 and was dying to ask Fleming all about it.

  ‘Being an MI5 agent must be an interesting job,’ he said.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘How did you get involved? Did you find a secret message under your door? Or in your teapot?’

  ‘No, there was an advertisement in the paper.’

  Jack laughed. ‘That’s funny. What really happened?’

  ‘No,’ Fleming said. ‘There was an advertisement in the paper. I sent off and applied.’

  ‘That’s amazing. So did you have to swear a blood oath?’

  ‘Not really a blood oath. It was more like signing a piece of paper.’

  ‘And have you ever shot anyone?’

  ‘I’ve only fired my gun once.’

  ‘That must have been exciting.’

  ‘I went hunting as a boy with my father and shot a duck, but I never did it again. I don’t like killing things.’

  None of this was what Jack had expected. ‘And what about following people?’ he asked. ‘Surely you’ve tortured someone for information?’

  ‘Only Mrs Blemms.’

  ‘Mrs Blemms?’

  ‘She owns the corner shop. She is very slow at telling me the prices of things and I get a bit snappy.’ He thought for a moment. ‘That probably doesn’t count as torture, though.’

  ‘Probably not.’

  Scarlet dived in. ‘We’ve had some experience with MI5,’ she said. ‘I expect there’s a file on us.’

  ‘There is,’ Fleming said, nodding. ‘I’ve seen it.’

  Scarlet beamed. ‘I dare say it makes for interesting reading,’ she said. ‘Lots of details about our adventures.’

  ‘Actually, there isn’t much there.’

  ‘What? How much, then?’

  Frowning, Fleming said, ‘About a page. Maybe a little more.’

  ‘A page?’ Scarlet looked insulted. ‘There’s only a page about me? After all our amazing adventures?’

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘There isn’t a page on you.’

  Scarlet looked relieved. ‘All right.’

  ‘You have a paragraph,’ he said. ‘And the same for Jack, too.’ Then he saw the outraged expression on Scarlet’s face. ‘If it’s any consolation,’ he added, ‘it’s a big paragraph.’

  Before Scarlet could explode with indignation, Fleming burst out laughing. ‘I must apologise,’ he said. ‘Actually, there’s rather a large file on your team, but I’m not allowed to say more than that.’

  Scarlet was mollified. ‘A large file,’ she said. ‘Well, that’s all right…’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  After Mr Doyle set the steering of the Lion’s Mane to automatic, he joined Jack, Scarlet and Fleming for a cup of tea.

  ‘I was looking at one of the guidebooks last night,’ Jack said. ‘I didn’t know the Islamic faith had had such a big influence on Spain.’

  ‘I probably should have given you a potted history of the country,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Several early peoples populated Spain prior to the Common Era. The Roman Empire eventually took over the country and controlled it for six centuries, naming it Hispania. The Visigoths—Germanic tribes—took over most of the peninsula. Then the Arabs invaded in the eighth century and held power until the marriage of Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon. This heralded a new era of expansion for the Spanish empire.’

  ‘So how did Alhambra get built?’ Scarlet asked.

  Fleming took up the story. ‘It began as a small fortress in the ninth century, and was rebuilt in the eleventh century as a palace, and in the fourteenth century it was expanded once again.’

  ‘Where does the name come from?’ Scarlet said. ‘It’s quite lovely.’

  ‘Alhambra means red castle in Arabic.’

  The airship continued south-west over the country, where giant crops dotted the crimson earth: olives, figs and nuts as big as cricket balls, and tomatoes and lettuces the size of watermelons. The fields were like enormous strips of fabric across the landscape. Small towns appeared. Unlike Barcelona, the houses in the villages were more conventional; two-storey detached homes with red roofs and white walls.

  Late in the day, they spotted a sprawling metropolis blanketing a valley.

  ‘That’s Granada,’ Fleming said. ‘Its history dates back thousands of years.’

  ‘Have you been here before?’ Scarlet asked.

  ‘I came here fo
r a holiday once. A beautiful spot. I highly recommend it.’

  Mr Doyle brought the Lion’s Mane in to land halfway up a hill. Lush trees and vast buildings crowded the peak. They disembarked to find tourists everywhere.

  ‘I suggest we split into two groups,’ Fleming said. ‘Ignatius, you and I will start at the northern end and work our way back. Jack and Scarlet can enter here and meet us somewhere in the middle, probably at Charles V’s palace.’

  ‘That sounds like a reasonable plan. We’ll take the Lion’s Mane,’ Mr Doyle said, climbing back onboard. He gave Jack and Scarlet strict instructions: ‘If you see anything suspicious, do nothing. Do not try to tackle anyone alone.’ He scribbled down an address. ‘If you get lost, we’ll meet at the Hotel Hermoso. I stayed there once, years ago.’

  After Mr Doyle and Fleming had taken off again, Jack and Scarlet walked through a high archway. ‘I’m not sure what we’re searching for,’ Jack said. ‘We don’t even know what Tockly or any other members of the Valkyrie Circle look like!’

  ‘Suspicious people often wear eye patches,’ Scarlet said. ‘Or have scars.’

  Jack thought. There was some truth in what Scarlet was saying. They had certainly come up against enough people who had either one or the other. And some had both.

  ‘I wonder why,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe it’s something to do with the school they attend.’

  ‘The—what?’

  ‘The school.’ She glared at him. ‘It’s not a completely silly idea. In The Adventure of the Rogues Academy, Brinkie Buckeridge exposes a school training students to be criminals.’

  It wasn’t such a crazy idea, either. ‘It does make some kind of sense,’ Jack said. ‘But what about the scars? And eye patches?’

  ‘Well, you can’t be an evildoer and look normal. Can you?’

  ‘So they cut each other with knives and poke out their eyes…so they can look evil?’

  ‘Now that’s just silly. They get injured during the training process, of course. That’s how they end up so damaged.’