The Billionaire's Curse

by Richard Newsome

  “At last,” he murmured. He turned to Gerald. “Do you have any idea what this is? What it can do?”

  Gerald took a step back.

  “You of all people should know,” Green said. Then a strange expression settled on his face, one of intense curiosity. “Gerald, tell me what happens when I do this—”

  Before Gerald could move Green had grabbed him by the back of his head, yanking down hard on a fistful of his dark hair. Then with something approaching tenderness, he laid the golden rod across Gerald’s brow.

  Gerald thought he was going to die. His eyelids peeled open and his pupils contracted to pin pricks. His mind exploded in a phosphorescent blaze of imaginings. It was as if every vision he’d ever had, every daydream, every escapist moment, every sweat-soaked nightmare, was combined, squeezed and condensed into a single electric pulse. Two beams of white-hot light burst out of his eyes. It was like all the beasts of his sketchbook had come to life. Blood-caked monsters hacked at him. He was flying, floating, falling. Suns exploded, spears struck his forehead, waves dashed onto rocks beneath towering castle walls, cities lay in darkness, in ruins, faces melted. Twisting…turning…falling…

  For an instant, Gerald saw everything. He was everywhere.

  Then he stopped breathing.

  All was black.

  The first thing Gerald noticed when he woke was the headache. It was a complete toe curler: a triple-sledgehammer-between-the-eyes, joy-throttling migraine.

  The next thing he noticed was the number of people around him. They were sitting in shabby lounge chairs, standing in small groups, and leaning against the corner of the major’s desk.

  The major’s desk!

  Gerald tried to cut through the haze in his head. He was lying on a leather couch in the major’s study at Beaconsfield. Despite there seeming to be dozens of people milling around, no one was paying him any attention. It was as if he wasn’t there. Constable Lethbridge, his notebook out and his pencil dancing in his hand, was taking down information from Professor McElderry. By the lamp in the corner was Mr. Gupta, a smile on his face so wide that Gerald almost didn’t recognize him. And what was Mrs. Rutherford doing here, chatting with Ruby by the French doors? Was that Sam, sitting in one of the wing-backed chairs, drinking a glass of water while someone wound a bandage around his leg? (That’s good, Sam’s okay.) And who was that sitting talking with Inspector Parrott? Was it old Major Pilkington?

  “The major!” Gerald yelled.

  All conversation in the room ceased. Every eye turned to Gerald, who was sitting bolt upright as if he’d seen a ghost.

  Ruby was first to reach him.

  “Gerald! You’re awake,” she cried. “You’ve been unconscious for ages.”

  Gerald grabbed Ruby’s forearm and jabbed a finger at the major.

  “What’s he doing here?” he gabbled. “Last time I saw him, he was—”

  “Dead?” Inspector Parrott said.

  “Well, yes,” Gerald said. “There was a flipping great arrow in his head.”

  The inspector bent down and picked up something from the floor. He held it up so Gerald could see. It was an arrow with what looked like a deflated Ping-Pong ball on the end. The major swiveled in his seat to face Gerald. He was wearing a black eye patch.

  “It appears the major had a lucky break,” the inspector said. “The arrow hit his false eye and knocked him over. He hit his head on the way down and slept through your adventure.”

  Gerald shook his head in confusion. “What about Chesterfield? Surely he’s—”

  “Yes, I’m afraid Mr. Chesterfield is no longer with us,” the inspector said. “But the major has been most forthcoming about this whole affair.”

  Ruby patted Gerald on the shoulder. “It’s all right,” she said. “It makes sense when you hear it—well, mostly.”

  Again Gerald shook his head. “What happened down in the chamber? Last thing I remember was Green grabbing me by the hair.”

  Ruby frowned. “Yeah—there was some sort of struggle. All we could see was Green’s back. It only went on for half a minute or so and then you must have passed out. Green dumped you and bolted past us and back up the tunnel. We knew you were okay because you kept moaning like you were talking in your sleep.”

  Gerald rubbed a spot on his forehead. “I don’t remember any of that.”

  Actually, he had complete recall of everything that happened up to the moment where Green laid the golden rod across his forehead. And he knew he would never forget the vision that followed, no matter how hard he tried.

  “How did we get back here? What happened to Sam?” Gerald turned to look at his friend. “How’s your leg?”

  Sam shifted in his chair, wincing at the movement. “The doctor thinks I’ll live.”

  A middle-aged man with graying temples, who must have been a guest at the major’s party, made some adjustments to a white bandage on Sam’s thigh. “It’s a nasty cut, but not too serious. A little to the left, though, and it would have severed the artery. Then it would have been a different story. If he stays on crutches, he’ll be right in a week or so.”

  “See,” Sam said. “Take more than a raging nutbag with a secret sword in his walking stick to put me down.”

  Gerald grinned. “How did we all get back here? It’s not like Sam or I could walk or climb that ladder.”

  Ruby tried her hardest to stop a smile breaking out across her face.

  “You’ll have to thank Mr. Fry for that,” she giggled.

  “Fry?”

  Then Gerald saw him, standing in a corner by the French doors, looking at the dusty surrounds of the major’s study as if they made his skin itch.

  “Mr. Fry turned up in the chamber about twenty minutes after Green did a bolt—he must have only just missed him coming out of the crypt,” Sam said. “We were arguing about whether or not I could look after myself while Ruby went for help. Then Mr. Fry turns up. He carries you over his shoulder and up the ladder, then comes back, bandages me up, and does the same.”

  Gerald looked at Fry with a new appreciation. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “Don’t thank me!” Fry said. “I couldn’t stand it. I was only following Mrs. Rutherford’s instructions to look for you when you didn’t return to the house.”

  Gerald checked his watch. It was almost four in the morning! Mrs. Rutherford crossed the room and put her hand on Gerald’s forehead.

  “We were all very worried about you,” she said with a crinkly smile. “I’ve rung your parents.”

  “Really?” Gerald said. “Are they coming back?”

  Mrs. Rutherford coughed into her hand. “I understand they’re sending flowers.”

  Gerald rolled his eyes.

  Inspector Parrott stood up. “From our investigations it is clear that Sir Mason Green was at the center of this entire affair. We’ve put out an alert to Interpol. He won’t get far.”

  Gerald muttered to himself, “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  Inspector Parrott motioned to Lethbridge. “Constable, bring us up to date.”

  The policeman flicked through the pages of his notebook. “Well, Major Pilkington has been experiencing some financial difficulties of late. A year back he was in the bookshop in town and found an old book that described a relic that was supposedly hidden on his estate. He then set about trying to find it with a view to selling it.”

  All eyes turned to the major, who was sitting disconsolate in the corner.

  “It’s true,” he said. “We were going to lose Beaconsfield. The cost of running this place is ruinous. So when I discovered there could be something valuable hidden here, I jumped at the chance. The diamond casket was to be our ticket out of debt. I owed poor Arthur Chesterfield’s father a significant sum, and I thought this would be a way to pay him back.”

  Gerald piped up. “And then you were contacted by a buyer, weren’t you? Someone who would pay a lot of money for that casket.”

  “That’s right,” the major said. �
�I thought all our problems were solved. Then I read further into that book and discovered the link between the casket and the Noor Jehan diamond and—”

  “And you got greedy,” Gerald said.

  The major’s head dropped. “Yes, we got greedy. The Noor Jehan was going to be on display at the museum. I couldn’t believe our luck. During the Blitz the underground station beneath the museum was used as an air-raid shelter. I knew the place like the back of my hand, including that hidden entrance into the Reading Room. It was Arthur who came up with the elephant statue idea.”

  Lethbridge suddenly tensed. “You mean it was Mr. Chesterfield who stole the diamond, who shot me in the—”

  “Fake diamond,” Gerald interrupted. “Green stole the real one when it arrived at the museum.”

  “Excuse me, Major?” Ruby said. “I thought you served in Africa in that war. How would you know so much about an air-raid shelter in London?”

  The major’s face fell even further. “I may have…um…exaggerated a touch. I was a teenager during the war. I’ve never even been outside Britain.”

  “But what about the Battle of Bilghazi? What about your eye?”

  “I lost my eye when I left a teaspoon in my cup and took a sip,” he mumbled. The major’s humiliation was complete.

  Gerald whispered to Ruby, “I don’t think the Rattigan Club is going to like this at all.”

  Ruby snuffled back a laugh.

  Lethbridge flicked some more pages. “We followed up on the information from Miss Valentine about an attack at St. Michael’s Tower. Local police found the bodies of two men but have had no success as yet in locating a large wooden wheel or anyone who might have been attached to it.”

  Inspector Parrott drummed his fingers on the desk. “I have some questions about this mysterious thin man, Mr. Wilkins.”

  “He was Green’s hired thug. He killed my great-aunt and he almost killed us,” Gerald said.

  The inspector shook his head. “Sir Mason Green, a thief. Who would believe it? Still, we have the diamond. So that crime is solved at least. And don’t you worry about Green—Interpol will catch him soon enough.” With that, the inspector wished them good night and left.

  Sam hobbled across and joined Gerald and Ruby on the old leather sofa.

  Mrs. Rutherford fussed over him, fetching extra cushions.

  “You’ve all had quite the adventure,” she said. “Let me arrange for Mr. Fry to get us home before the sun comes up.”

  She turned to go, then hesitated. She looked at Gerald from over the top of her glasses.

  “Your great-aunt would have been very proud of you, Master Gerald,” she said. “She placed great stock in those who stand by their friends.”

  Gerald smiled. “Mrs. Rutherford?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Do you know why Aunt Geraldine left her estate to me?”

  Mrs. Rutherford considered the question. “When the time is right, that is a question you will be able to answer for yourself.” She looked at Gerald and his friends, sitting exhausted on the old sofa. “Miss Archer was right,” she said. “Not everything of value has a price tag attached.”

  When Mrs. Rutherford went to find Fry, Ruby turned to Gerald. “What do you think that golden rod was? Green was carrying it like a relay runner’s baton when he went past us.”

  “Dunno,” Gerald said, again rubbing his forehead. “But I’d like to find out.”

  “There’s another thing,” Ruby said. “As Green ran past, he turned back and said something.”

  “What?” Gerald asked, half knowing the answer.

  “He said he’d be back to ask you what you saw.”

  “What d’you reckon he meant by that?” Sam said.

  “I have no idea,” Gerald replied.

  Sam shifted in his seat. “So what happened when you fell into that pit?”

  “Well,” Gerald began. “There were these three rats…”

  Sam went white. “Stop! Stop right there. Don’t need to know anything else, thanks.”

  Gerald’s nose twitched. He caught the scent of a familiar perfume. He looked up to find a wave of purple fabric before his eyes. It was Alisha Gupta. And she was smiling at him.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Gerald stood up clumsily. “Oh…hello.”

  She dipped her head and gazed at him through upturned eyes.

  “My father asked me to come and thank you,” she said. “I’m Alisha.”

  “I’m Sam,” said Sam, jumping up from the couch on his good leg and wedging himself between Gerald and the girl.

  “Oh, hello,” she said.

  “And I’m Ruby,” Ruby said, resolutely seated on the couch. “Hi there.”

  “Hmm, yes,” Alisha said, then turned back to the boys. “My father wanted to say he thought you were very…”

  “Brave,” Sam said. “It was nothing, really, and this wound will heal quick as—”

  “No,” Alisha said. “Foolish. My father thought you were both very foolish to risk your lives for a mere gem. But he is grateful for your actions.”

  She rose up on her toes and kissed Gerald’s cheek. For the second time that night, fireworks sparked in Gerald’s brain. He watched in a wide-eyed stupor as Alisha Gupta waved a smiling good-bye and sashayed back to her beaming father.

  “Oh puh-leese,” Ruby sniffed from behind them. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?”

  “Where’s my kiss?” Sam said, incredulous. “I’m an injured hero too.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gerald said, his eyes still dreamy. “They always ignore the one they like the best.”

  Ruby snorted. “Ha! If that’s the case, Sam must be the most popular boy in England.”

  There was a commotion by the door. Sid Archer burst into the room, his face glowing bright red and a vein throbbing across his forehead.

  “Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are my flippin’ useless kids?”

  Gerald turned to Sam. “Octavia and Zebedee!” he said.

  They both looked at Ruby, who had gone a little pale.

  “Well,” she said, as she hurried across to the bookcase behind the major’s desk. “Serves her right for calling me a princess, doesn’t it?”

  EPILOGUE

  In the week after the events at Beaconsfield, the warm sunny days continued; the locals couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen such a stretch of good weather. Sam and Ruby’s parents drove to Avonleigh to stay for a few days and enjoyed getting to know Gerald, as well as exploring the Somerset countryside with their children. They even made Gerald an honorary Valentine, which pleased him no end.

  Sam’s leg was almost fully recovered and he abandoned his crutches. It was agreed that a summer at Avonleigh was just as likely to hasten his recovery as returning to London. So after three days, Sam and Ruby’s parents hugged and kissed them good-bye. There was no sign of Gerald’s parents, but true to their word, they did send flowers. Mrs. Rutherford placed them in a large crystal bowl on the dining-room sideboard. Vi and Eddie phoned a few times, but the calls stopped after three days, and Gerald accepted that as his lot and got on with having fun with his friends.

  One day Mr. Fry drove them back into town to the bookshop. But for some reason Mr. Hoskins had taken an extended holiday and the CLOSED sign hung yellowed on the inside of the door. Mrs. Rutherford was vague about her brother’s whereabouts, only saying that he had some business abroad.

  Gerald’s testy relationship with Mr. Fry didn’t improve, but it didn’t get any worse, either. Mr. Prisk, the lawyer, came to visit one morning. But even he—Great-Aunt Geraldine’s closest confidant—could shed no light on the “big family secret” that Green had mentioned down in the cavern.

  About five days after midsummer, Professor McElderry arrived at Avonleigh and spent the afternoon with Gerald, Sam, and Ruby. Over a cup of tea and some homemade scones and jam, he explained all he could about Noor Jehan and the diamond casket.

  “Sorry I wasn’t upfron
t with you about the casket when you asked,” he said, biting into a jam-laden scone. “Hell! These are good. There had been a bit too much interest in it and I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

  “How do you mean, a lot of interest?” Gerald asked.

  “Your skinny mate—the one that smelled like a mop bucket and looked like death—came around the week before the robbery. Said he was doing some research on ancient locked boxes and asked a lot of questions about this one. We had a few phone calls too—I’m guessing they came from Arthur Chesterfield. The old myths surrounding this box are pretty fanciful, you know. And as I was very close to finding it myself, for the museum, I wasn’t about to provide any tips to some newbies. When you lot rolled up asking questions, I clammed up.”

  “What type of myths?”

  “You name it—from relics linked to ancient doomsday cults to Julius Caesar’s baby teeth—that box was said to contain all manner of stuff.”

  Gerald nodded and took a breath. “How about the…um…Holy Grail?” he asked.

  McElderry almost choked on his scone. It took a minute for his combined laughter and coughing to stop. “No one believes that exists,” he guffawed.

  “What was the golden rod that Green took off with, then?” Ruby asked.

  McElderry’s mood darkened. “That I don’t know,” he rumbled. “But I’ve got the casket now. It’s covered in ancient symbols and there were carvings all around the rotunda. That chamber dates to the end of the Roman Empire—at least 400 AD. It was probably constructed by a religious cult, using the midsummer solstice as a location device. Then, over the centuries, Beaconsfield was built over the top of it. Once we’ve disarmed all the traps we’ll be able to find out more.”

  Gerald shook his head in wonder.

  “What kind of cult would go to that much trouble to protect some gold rod?” he asked.

  McElderry licked a dollop of cream from his fingers. “Gerald, what do you know about your family crest?”

  Gerald shrugged. “Not much. Mr. Prisk said it was pretty old.”