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
Book V The Lost Sword
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.
textpublishing.com.au
The Text Publishing Company
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22 William Street
Melbourne Victoria 3000
Australia
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 lost sword / by Darrell Pitt.
ISBN: 9781925240184 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781925095982 (ebook)
Series: Pitt, Darrell Jack Mason adventures ; 5.
Target Audience: For young adults.
Subjects: Detective and mystery stories.
Dewey Number: A823.4
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 THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER ONE
That’s strange, Jack Mason thought.
After entering the reception area of 221 Bee Street, he expected to see Gloria Scott, the blonde-haired secretary, at her desk. Instead the apartment was quiet.
The sitting room was also empty, apart from the addition of a backdrop from Swan Lake, a dozen busts of Napoleon and a life-size statue of a horse called Silver Blaze. These recent acquisitions had been jammed into the already crowded home, making it seem even more like a second-hand shop, instead of the residence of Ignatius Doyle, the famous detective.
Fifteen-year-old Jack Mason lived here with Scarlet Bell, a pretty redhead with a heart-shaped face. As assistants to Ignatius Doyle, they had travelled all over the world on several adventures, and were accustomed to strange events. When Jack had left the apartment to post some letters, Mr Doyle had been conducting one of his many odd experiments: trying to accurately fire a weapon while wearing a straitjacket, all the time being lowered into a vat of boiling oil.
As well as having an encyclopaedic mind and powers of observation, Mr Doyle was also the most eccentric man Jack had ever met.
Before he’d gone, Scarlet had been playing a record of some classical music—some chap named Mozart. There was no sign of her, either.
Where is everyone?
Jack checked the bedrooms, library and kitchen. He was passing the dining room when a tiny sound came from within. Pushing the door open, he blinked. The room was decorated with streamers, sparklers and hydrogen-filled balloons. In the middle of the table sat a cake with burning candles.
‘Surprise!’
Jack almost fainted as a group of people leapt up from behind the table—Mr Doyle, Scarlet, his tutor Miss Bloxley, and Inspector Greystoke from Scotland Yard—and burst into a chorus of Happy Birthday.
Scarlet gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Happy fifteenth birthday, Jack,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ Jack stammered. ‘You all fooled me completely.’
He had been fooled, but he hadn’t forgotten his birthday. That, and his parents, who had been tragically killed in a circus accident, had been on his mind for several days.
The last birthday gift they had given him was a copy of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. It had gone missing when he was forced to leave the circus and live in the orphanage.
‘There was a last-minute mishap,’ Gloria said. ‘Ignatius had some problems escaping the straitjacket.’
‘I had to use some old-fashioned muscle to push the vat out of the way,’ Miss Bloxley boomed. ‘Ignatius was seconds away from turning into boiled chicken!’
‘I’m not as fast as I once was,’ Mr Doyle admitted.
‘Even if you were only half the man,’ Inspector Greystoke said, ‘you’d still be the greatest asset that Scotland Yard has ever had.’ He turned to Jack. ‘Happy birthday, young fellow.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Jack said. ‘
I appreciate you coming. You must have quite a busy schedule.’
‘I do, but you and Scarlet have saved the day so many times that I had to show my appreciation.’
After the cake was eaten, and lemonade consumed, Jack was given his presents. Miss Bloxley and Inspector Greystoke gave him records—Jack had recently acquired a taste for jazz music—while the others gave him books.
‘Ah,’ Jack said, reading the title of Miss Bloxley’s book. ‘The History of Rome.’
‘I know you have an interest in Roman History.’
‘I do.’ Jack searched his memory. ‘Ipsa scientia potestas est.’
Miss Bloxley looked impressed. ‘Knowledge itself is power. Well done. You have been studying your Latin.’
The book from Scarlet was an adventure novel. ‘Brigadier Gerard,’ Jack said. ‘Looks interesting.’
‘The stories are both exciting and humorous,’ she said. ‘Almost as good as the Brinkie Buckeridge novels.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He studied the book from Mr Doyle, a leather-jacket volume filled with blank pages.
‘It’s a diary,’ Mr Doyle explained. ‘I thought it time you started writing down your incredible exploits.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
The party continued until Miss Bloxley and Inspector Greystoke left. As Jack and the others washed the dishes, a ding came from reception. Gloria returned with a note in hand.
‘It’s from 10 Downing Street,’ Mr Doyle read. ‘The prime minister has asked us to go there immediately.’
Within minutes, Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle were passing over London in their airship, the Lion’s Mane. The balloon of the thirty-foot airship was gold, with a brass and timber gondola beneath. A picture of a lion, with the registration number—1887—decorated the bow.
‘I wonder what the prime minister wants,’ Scarlet said. ‘A new mystery would be good. I have been a little bored of late. The latest Brinkie Buckeridge novel was due out last month, but it’s been held up by the printers’ strike.’
‘Ninja Attack has been held up too,’ Jack said. It was the sequel to his current favourite book, Ninety-Nine Ninjas.
Scarlet groaned. ‘Not again,’ she said. ‘There are no such things as ninjas, Jack! Not these days.’
‘Just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.’
From the corner, Mr Doyle harrumphed. He needed evidence.
Jack peered over the side of the airship. It was early autumn and the leaves were just beginning to turn. A row of buildings was being demolished on one side of the street, reducing the traffic to a single lane.
Jack’s eyes moved to airships crisscrossing the horizon, and the London Metrotower, a building that stretched all the way to the edge of space.
After they’d landed at Downing Street, Jack felt a little self-conscious. He was still wearing his usual brown pants, a white shirt and his trademark green coat. Mr Doyle had dressed in a suit and bowler hat, and Scarlet a blue day dress.
‘Maybe we should have changed,’ Jack suggested.
‘Never fear,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I once visited the prime minister dressed as an emu.’
‘Coming from you, Mr Doyle,’ Scarlet said, ‘that doesn’t surprise me.’
They were shown into the office where they found Prime Minister Kitchener behind his desk. He was tall and stern-looking, but smiled when he shook hands with Jack and the others.
‘Welcome back to Downing Street,’ he said. ‘It’s been too long.’
To the side of the desk sat another man, smaller and rounder, with a face like a bulldog.
‘General Churchill,’ Mr Doyle greeted him. ‘Still smoking those cigars?’
‘I am indeed,’ he confirmed. ‘My doctor tells me they’re bad for my health, but I’m not convinced.’
‘I have my own blend for my pipe,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It contains everything except tobacco.’ As they took seats around the desk, he continued, ‘Prime Minister, I assume you didn’t invite us here for tea and scones.’
‘Not exactly,’ Kitchener said. ‘There’s a security matter we’d like to discuss with you that may impact the future peace and prosperity of our country.’ He paused. ‘No doubt you’re aware of circumstances in Germany.’
‘How could I not be?’ Mr Doyle said, his face darkening. ‘Those damned Nazis are gaining steam again. I’d hoped we’d seen the last of them.’
Jack swallowed. They had encountered the Nazis on his first adventure with Mr Doyle. During that time, the Nazis had seized power in Germany, but had just as quickly been deposed. A recent economic downturn had since helped them to become the country’s third most powerful party—something that worried the British government.
‘Their leader, Anton Drexler, has been sending diplomatic envoys to several countries,’ Churchill said, ‘with the intention of building stronger ties in the event of another war.’
‘Another war?’ Scarlet said. ‘Surely there’s no chance of that?’
‘We hope not,’ Kitchener said, ‘but it’s a possibility.’
‘Some months ago, we were told the Nazis had sent agents to Japan,’ Churchill continued. ‘Their intention was to find a lost relic, a weapon known as the Kusanagi sword.’
‘I’ve heard of it,’ Mr Doyle said, nodding. ‘Also known as the Grass Cutter Sword, it’s reported to be over a thousand years old. It was supposedly used by a hero named Yamato Takeru to generate a mighty wind that repelled a grass fire and destroyed his enemies. The sword was lost in a shipwreck hundreds of years ago. It’s all superstition, of course,’ he added, sheepishly.
‘Superstition, it may be,’ Churchill said, ‘but the Japanese government would be forever grateful to the man—and the nation—that recovered it for them.’
‘Surely you don’t expect me to find this sword?’ Mr Doyle said. ‘If it ever existed, it’s probably lying at the bottom of the ocean. There must be someone else who can organise the search.’
‘We did have another man,’ Churchill admitted. ‘He was making great progress until three days ago. Then he went missing.’
Mr Doyle shrugged. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘But it’s still not my area.’
General Churchill pursed his lips. ‘I regret to inform you that the man who has gone missing is your brother.’
Brother? Jack sat forward. I didn’t know Mr Doyle had a brother.
Scarlet looked just as surprised.
‘My brother...’ Mr Doyle’s voice trailed off. ‘You don’t mean—’
‘Edgar Doyle,’ Kitchener confirmed. ‘He is the man we sent to Japan in search of the Kusanagi sword.’
‘Mr Doyle,’ Jack said. ‘You never told us you had a brother.’
‘He is my step-brother,’ Mr Doyle said, frowning. ‘And a scoundrel. That is why I have never mentioned him.’ He focused on Churchill. ‘Which leaves me to ask why the British government sent him to find such a relic?’
‘As you know,’ Churchill said, ‘Edgar spent some time in jail for a string of offences.’
‘Edgar is a c
onsummate thief,’ Mr Doyle told Jack and Scarlet. ‘His robberies include the theft of famous jewels, paintings and ancient artefacts from a dozen museums.’
‘He was released from jail just prior to the start of the war,’ Churchill explained. ‘At that time, he approached us with an offer.’
‘To be a spy?’
Churchill nodded. ‘We needed someone who was adept at getting in and out of places. Edgar was most useful. At the end of the war we decided to continue his services in an unofficial capacity.’
‘He’s been doing jobs that could never be officially sanctioned by the government,’ Kitchener said. ‘We would deny all knowledge if he were caught.’
‘And now he is missing,’ Mr Doyle mused. ‘I’m not the man for the job. I’ve been to Japan, but a local person would be better equipped—’
‘The young lad who was helping your brother is extremely capable. He will give you any assistance you require.’
‘Still—’
‘Ignatius,’ the prime minister said. ‘We want the Kusanagi sword found and returned to the Japanese government. This is not a request.’ His steely eyes focused on the detective, then softened. ‘At the same time, you can find your brother.’
Mr Doyle swallowed. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.
‘As you always do.’
‘And you already have a cover story for being in the country,’ Churchill said. ‘I understand you’ve been invited to be guest of honour at the annual International Darwinist Symposium.’
‘I have. It’s to be the largest meeting of Darwinist scientists in history, not to mention the diplomats from almost every country on earth.’
‘Why is there so much interest this year?’ Jack asked.
‘The focus of this year’s symposium is Hot Earth theory, a belief that the world is heating because of the burning of fossil fuels. The Darwinists are asking all scientists to ratify the Hot Earth Accord, demanding that fossil fuels be phased out.’
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