The Steampunk Detective

Darrell Pitt

Copyright 2011 Darrell Pitt

Published at Smashwords

Find out more about Darrell at his website:

http://www.darrellpitt.com

Email: darrellpitt@gmail.com

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Dedicated

To My Parents

Chapter One

London

1920

“Get him!” a voice yelled.

Jack Mason turned around to see Charley Spratt and his cronies – Alfie and Felix Smithers – half way down the street behind him.

Bazookas! Jack thought.

He broke into a run as the other boys gave chase.

“You’re gonna be sorry, ya little maggot!” Alfie yelled.

Jack raced down the street. He had a pretty good idea what he was supposed to be sorry about, but he doubted he would ever actually feel any sorrow about it. They were all inhabitants – some would say inmates – of Sunnyside Children’s Orphanage, surely one of the most inappropriately named organisations in all of Britain.

If there was a bright and sunny side to the orphanage, Jack had yet to see it. The people who ran the institution were decent enough, but the children contained within its high walls ranged from kind and clever to cruel and evil. Charley and his cronies definitely fitted into the latter category. Away from the eyes of those in charge, Charley made it his mission to inflict pain on the smaller children. This ranged from bashings in the middle of the night to stealing the meagre allowance they were allocated by the director of the orphanage, Mr Daniels.

That morning, before leaving for school, Jack had decided to pay Charley and his friends back for some of those evil acts. All three boys would have found their shoes right by their bedsides where they had left them the previous night.

Upon dragging their boots on, however, they would have found their feet sinking into mud.

Jack’s revenge had been simple, but effective. The boys had been forced to clean the boots themselves, much to the amusement of every kid in the orphanage. Despite their efforts, the boots would never be quite the same again.

Charley was dumb, but he was not so stupid as to not realise who had made a fool of him. His eyes had briefly met Jacks as he dragged the sodden boot off his blackened foot.

Jack had stared back at him with steely resolve. He feared Charley and his henchmen, but he would not allow himself to be crushed by them. The last few years had been difficult enough. He and his parents had once been known as The Flying Sparrows. As a team of flying trapeze artists, they had amazed circus audiences and defied death all over Britain.

One day, all that had changed. They had defied death one time too many and death had taken its revenge.

“No-one makes a fool out of Charley Spratt!” Charley yelled out.

Jack glanced back.

They were getting closer.

I’ve got to shake them off, he thought. He had to lose them and circle back to Sunnyside some other way.

Jack raced past an old abandoned factory. He spotted a few missing boards in the fence. Climbing through, he saw a large flat parking area. Beyond this lay a pair of huge double doors leading into the factory. Racing across the yard, Jack glanced back to see the larger boys climbing through the hole in the fence.

The large double doors were slightly ajar. Jack squeezed through. The factory had once been some sort of iron works. Huge pulleys and conveyor belts ran overhead from one end to the other. At the far end of the building lay the foundry where metal would have been melted. The interior was dusty, but not ramshackle. It almost looked as if workers could come back at any moment and resume their jobs.

The interior spread out before him. Unfortunately there were few places to hide. His only real place of refuge lay…

His eyes looked upwards.

…above.

A set of stairs led up to a mezzanine level that ran around the outside of the factory. Jack raced up the steps. Pieces of machinery and discarded metal lay in half gloom. He took refuge against the wall among some shelving.

Voices drifted up to him.

“I saw him come in here.”

That was Felix!

“Well I can’t see him now,” Charley said.

“Maybe he found a door,” Alfie said.

Jack started to breathe a little easier. He leaned against the timber wall. People like Charley and his gang had little interest in learning about the world or becoming better people. They were more interested in making themselves feel powerful by walking over those who were smaller and weaker.

Jack liked to read. It made him stand out from many of the other kids at Sunnyside. His parents had instilled a love of books in him and he enjoyed nothing more than reading classic adventure stories. Charley and the others didn’t even know how to read. Jack had once seen Charley staring at the words in a book like they were written in some foreign language.

Charley and his friends had a small attention span. Jack thought if he stayed where he was, the gang of bullies would eventually lose interest and leave. He would find another way back to the orphanage -.

Crash!

Jack jumped. He had knocked an old pot of paint off the shelf onto the floor.

“Up there!”

Blimey, he thought. That’s done it.

He raced along the mezzanine level, diving around pieces of equipment as he ran. He heard the boys coming up behind him. Bazookas! There had to be a route of escape down to the floor below. He would be safe if only he could find it.

“You’re gonna die, you little rat!”

Charley’s voice sounded close. Very close. Jack reached the end corner of the factory. He hurried through piles of old metal pipes. If he could just find a set of stairs leading to the ground below -.

Oh no.

He caught a glimpse of movement amongst the piles of junk stacked high on the other side of the mezzanine level. Alfie was running down the other side of the factory to cut him off.

In a matter of seconds he would be caught between both sets of bullies.

He stumbled to a halt. There was no set of stairs leading down. There was no way down at all. He glanced over the railing. He was about twenty feet above the floor. Directly below lay machinery and jagged pieces of metal. A jump from here would lead to serious injury and maybe worse.

“You little piece of sludge!”

Jack turned. Charley had caught up with him. The bully stood about twenty feet away. He picked up a piece of pipe and waved it threateningly. Next to him, Felix Smithers grinned at him with malicious intent.

“You’re gonna regret what you did,” Felix said. “You’re gonna be real sorry.”

“Not likely,” Jack said.

He turned around to see Alfie appear from between two piles of junk.

Holy Bazookas! Now he was hemmed in on both sides. He would be helpless as they moved in to exact their revenge. Jack swallowed. They had beaten some of the boys at the orphanage black and blue, but they had never actually killed someone.

Still, there was always a first time.

There was no way to escape.

Except…

“How about we make a deal?” Jack suggested.

“What sort of deal?” Charley asked suspiciously.

“How about you learn how to read and write,” Jack suggested. “And I won’t call you dummy?”

Charley’s eyes opened with rage. He looked so angry he almost looked like he was suffering some sort of seizure. “You little grub. I’m gonna-.”

The bully started forward. Jack ran straight towards the railing. Just before he reached it, he jumped and placed his left foot on the top. He pushed off with all his might and leapt into thin air.

For a moment he felt like he was back with his parents. Jack was one of the Flying Sparrows once more. He was not an orphan living among other orphans, but part of a family. His mother would cook dinner for him and he and his parents would sit around the campfire outside their caravan at the end of a long day.

If only.

The fantasy lasted only a second. Jack brought himself back to reality and threw his arm out. It connected with a metal hook that hung from a chain. The chain was part of a conveyor mechanism that ran the whole length of the factory. Propelled by his momentum, the hook slid along its track, taking him away from the bullies and back towards the entrance to the factory.

The chain finally reached the end of its track and Jack came to an abrupt halt. Now he swung back and forth a couple of times before leaping onto another chain. Balanced by a counterweight, he slowly descended towards the factory floor until he found himself only a few feet above ground.

Jack let go of the chain and landed safely. He looked back to the far end of the factory. Charley and his henchmen stood on the distant mezzanine level, staring at him, open mouthed.

“I’ll see you back at Sunnyside,” he called.

As he turned away, he muttered under his breath, “Rotters.”

He hurried through the front entrance of the factory and out into the street. The bullies would not catch up with him now. He allowed himself a moment to relax.

Around him, steam cars and horse driven vehicles fought for supremacy on the narrow street. Glancing up, he saw lines of airships crisscrossing the sky above London. The skies were busier than ever now the express route to Europe had been opened. In the distance the London Metrotower cut the horizon like a mighty mountain, rising from the heart of what was once Northam. It reached taller into the sky than the eye could see, punching a hole through the clouds like a mighty elm tree as it cut through the atmosphere directly into space.

From its upper reaches, steam powered spaceships navigated the globe, facilitating trade and commerce with other countries as well as maintaining a military presence at the edge of space.

As their Prime Minister, Mr Kitchener, had very famously said, “Whoever controls the high ground controls the world.”

Jack half jogged the last few blocks back to Sunnyside until he reached the great stone entrance to the structure. From here the place looked even more like a jail than an establishment for raising children.

Home sweet home, he thought dismally. What did I ever do to deserve this?

He was half way across the courtyard when he heard a voice call to him from behind.

“Jack Mason!”

He turned to see the orphanage director, Mr Daniels, standing in the entrance way to one of the buildings. The man waved him over.

Surely I can’t be in trouble over the boots, he thought. Someone must have ratted on me.

“Good afternoon, Jack.” Mr Daniels looked down at him. “I need to have a word with you.”

Chapter Two

“This is your new home,” Mr Daniels said. “Two twenty–one Bee Street. You’ll want the top floor. Ask for Ignatius Doyle.”

Before Jack could utter a single word, Mr Daniels tapped his driver on the back of his shoulder with his stick and the steam car chugged off down the street, leaving him stranded on the footpath. After a moment it merged with the traffic and Jack could not pick it out from any of the other vehicles.

Jack looked up at the building. Ten stories high, the old brick structure showed obvious signs of wear and pollution. Black soot stained the exterior. Most of the windows were either cracked or looked permanently boarded up. Even the front stone steps slanted downwards at one end.

Jack felt like turning around and fleeing. He wanted to be away from this place. But where could he go? He had no family and Mr Daniels, the director of the orphanage, had already said his farewells.

“We have found you gainful employment,” Mr Daniels had said the previous evening. “You will be an assistant to a man with an infirmity.”

Jack had been unsure as to what an ‘infirmity’ actually was, but it had not sounded like fun. Still, the promise of a new life had appealed to him. It meant he would not have to deal with Charley and his cronies any longer and possibly the food would be better.

So he had agreed and packed his meagre belongings into a bag. After saying a few quick goodbyes to a few close friends, Mr Daniels had bundled him into his vehicle and driven him across London to this run down location.

He sighed.

On the street around him, overflowing rubbish bins lined the pavement. The open doors of workshops revealed men forging metals and constructing instruments. Altogether it was an unremarkable street in a run down section of London.

Still, anything had to be better than Sunnyside.

Jack gripped the wrought iron railing and mounted the tilting stairs. He pushed open the front door and entered the hallway. A glass frame listed the tenants of the building. Mr Doyle’s name appeared next to the tenth floor, but that was all. The stencilled letters did not display the name of his business.

The elevator shaft lay opposite. To its right, the stairs wound upwards into the building. A man occupied the bottom three stairs, sprawled out as if dead, a paper wrapped bottle inserted under his left arm.

Blimey, Jack thought. Not exactly the best house in town, is it?

He decided to take the elevator.

Jack pushed the up button and waited. A clanking, wheezing sound filled the lift well. After a minute, the elevator arrived and Jack climbed in. Pulling the iron door shut, he pushed the button for the tenth floor. The elevator shuddered – as if about to suffer cardiac arrest – and started to ascend. Jack caught glimpses of the other floors through the small glass window as he passed. He heard people arguing, saw a fist fight, witnessed a man and woman in a passionate embrace and heard someone singing opera.

The lift stopped with a shudder as if it had only just survived the experience. Jack climbed out. A short hall lay before him with a single door at the far end. He walked its length, feeling all the while like he was marching to his execution. A single spidery crack ran diagonally across the bottom right of the glass on the door. Two lines of text divided the glass.

Ignatius Doyle

Consulting Detective

He stood reading the words for a moment, then summonsed the courage to knock.

“Come in,” a female voice responded.

Jack gripped the brass doorknob in his hand and entered a small dusty office. Rows of empty chairs lined both sides. A beautiful woman sat at the desk. She wore a grey suit, bright red lipstick and dark eye shadow. Her hair was blonde with a mess of ringlet curls.

Bazookas, he thought. I’m in Heaven.

From behind the woman, a door led to another room.

She fired a wide mouthed smile at him. “Hello. You must be from the orphanage.”

He nodded.

“No words? Cat got your tongue?”

He shook his head.

“What’s your name?”

“Jack Mason,” he said.

“I’m Gloria Scott,” she introduced herself. “You can call me Gloria.”

“Hi Gloria.”

“And you’re an orphan.” She got up and before Jack knew what was happening, the woman gave him a hug. Jack was amazed. No–one at the orphanage had ever given him a hug. The last woman he could remember hugging him was his mother. A strange sensation welled up in his chest and he felt ridiculous, like he was about to burst into tears.

Gloria drew back from him and held him at arm’s length. “It must be so hard losing your parents. Ignatius lost his a long time ago.”

“Ignatius?” he asked.

“Yes. Mr Doyle.”

Of course.

“So you two are orphans together,” the girl said.

“Alright,” he said uncertainly.

A bell sounded on Gloria’s desk. She opened the door behind her and leaned through.

“Yes, Mr Doyle.”

“Is the young man here from the orphanage?”

“He is, indeed.”

“Well, send him in. We have work to do.”

“You have work to do,” Gloria turned to Jack with mock sternness. Then she winked. “Mr Doyle will see you now.”

Jack passed through the door into an enormous chamber beyond. A large timber desk crowded the entrance way. He stepped around it as his eyes took in the interior. The office seemed to take up the entire top floor of the building. Large windows surrounded the outside, allowing slanted rectangles of light to illuminate the huge chamber. Vast mounds of books and odd looking contraptions made the chamber look like some sort of junk shop. Low tables, filing cabinets and shelves created corridors through the chaos.

Jack’s eyes gradually focused on strange items within the chaos. He saw:

A stuffed owl and a stuffed rabbit.

Animals preserved in jars.

A miniature ferris wheel.

A plaster of Paris bust of a man.

A life size mannequin of a man missing its head.

A chemistry set with Bunsen burners and beakers.

Without doubt, this was the strangest room he had ever been in during his short life. He half expected a white rabbit to leap out from behind a shelf checking its watch. Gently closing the door behind him, his eyes searched the ramshackle interior for signs of life.

Harry – one of the boys at the orphanage – had told him the previous day about a racket involving orphanage kids. He had said some children were sold into slavery and transported to exotic far away places like Saudi Arabia. There they worked in the mines until they died of old age or exhaustion – whichever came first. Jack had laughed at him, but a seed of doubt had been planted.

As this memory passed through his mind, he heard a sudden shuffling sound from behind him. He turned. A man leapt up from behind a desk at the end of the room. The stranger wore a bizarre mask – a beekeeper’s hood.

He waved a gun in Jack’s direction.

“Don’t move,” the masked man ordered.

The gun fired.

Bang!

Jack threw himself sideways, hitting the ground. He rolled once, leapt to his feet and jerked open the door to the reception area. He raced through. Gloria cried out to him, but he ignored her as he sprinted down the corridor. As he reached the lift, he heard the man’s voice.

“Wait! Stop!”

Not bloomin’ likely, he thought.

Waiting for the lift would take too long. He tore open the door to the stairs. Charging down them in terror, his heart banged like a hammer in his chest as the dimly lit stairwell closed in around him.

Chapter Three

Harry’s words rang in Jack’s ears.

“They kidnap and drug you…you wake up on a boat….forced to work in the mines…feed you scraps….”

As far as Jack was concerned, no–one was drugging him, forcing him to work in a mine or feeding him any scraps. He would rather live on the streets than allow that to happen. As he went down the stairs two at a time, he heard the lift clanging as it descended through the building.

Was his assailant after him?

The stairs seemed to take forever. Finally he saw the old drunk at the bottom. He leapt over him in one smooth leap just as the elevator reached ground level.

The metal door slid across. Jack glanced back and saw a well dressed thin man exit. He held the beekeeper’s mask in one hand. It had to be the man who had shot at him. It had to be Ignatius Doyle.

Ignatius Doyle: man with an infirmity.

Ignatius Doyle: child kidnapper and slave trader.

Ignatius Doyle: scoundrel.

“Wait!” Mr Doyle cried out.

Jack ignored him and bolted from the building. When he reached the footpath his feet zigzagged left and right.

Where to run? Where to hide?

A small group of well dressed people waited before him to cross the road. Jack pushed between them. A woman cried out indignantly at him as he started to charge across the road.

His feet slipped on the cobblestones.

A horse screamed.

Jack looked up to see a team of horses charging towards him. He tried to stand, but his shoes slipped again in the muck on the road. As he looked at the horses he saw the froth running from their mouths, their noses snorting, their legs bearing down on him…

“Holy bazookas,” Jack breathed.

A hand darted out of nowhere at the last moment. Grabbed his lapel. Dragged him sideways. As he sprawled across the pavement, he saw the horse and carriage charge directly past.

One more second and he would have been finished. He looked up into the face of Ignatius Doyle.

“You need to let me explain,” the detective began. “You see –.”

Ignatius Doyle got no further. Suddenly a dainty fist hit the older man in the shoulder.

“Mr Doyle!” Gloria stood there, her face crimson with fury. “How dare you scare the boy! He’s only just walked in the door!”

“I was merely testing a hypothesis,” Mr Doyle said. “Can a gun be accurately fired whilst wearing a beekeeper’s hood? I now know -.”

“Testing a –“ Gloria drew Jack close to her. “I’ve told you before about shooting inside!”

Mr Doyle stuck his bottom lip out. He looked like a schoolboy who had been caught doing something wrong. “A little bullet here and there won’t –.”

“A little bullet,” Gloria mumbled, turning Jack around to face her. “Don’t you mind Mr Doyle. He’s a good man, but a little eccentric. You know what I mean?”

“Uh,” Jack began. “I think I do.”

He studied Ignatius Doyle for the first time. He looked to be of slim build and aged about sixty years old. He moved with a slight limp; he favoured his left leg. He wore a bowler hat with goggles wrapped around the brim, a long black coat and a brown chequered cape.

“You come on back to the house,” Gloria continued. “Mr Doyle will make you a nice hot drink and sort everything out.”

Ten minutes later Jack found himself back in Ignatius Doyle’s lodgings, standing in almost the same place as he had been when the detective had fired his weapon. Now that he thought about it, the gun, although startling in the tiny space, had not actually been pointed at him.

Ignatius Doyle bustled over to a dartboard on the opposite wall. He examined it closely.

“Just as I thought,” he said triumphantly, turning to Jack. “The Queenscliff murder could have been committed by the beekeeper.”

Jack simply nodded.

The man lurched forward and held out a hand. “Ignatius Doyle.”

Jack looked at the hand uncertainly for a moment. Finally he clenched his jaw. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Jack Mason.”

“Ah, yes.” Mr Doyle looked slightly embarrassed. “Sorry about that little misunderstanding regarding the gun.”

“Uh, that’s alright.”

“But you will have to get used to my little mannerisms.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Jack,” Mr Doyle mused. “That’s a good name.” The detective suddenly changed tact. “Did you enjoy the orphanage?”

Jack paused. “They were good to me, but I’m glad to be out of there.”

“I can imagine,” Mr Doyle said. “Hmmm.”

The detective limped over to a small table. He carefully inspected the collection of Bunsen burners and the chemicals filtering their way through a maze of tubes and curved piping. He removed a large flask of bubbling brown liquid. “Care for a hot chocolate?”

“Oh yes,” Jack said, his mouth instantly watering. “Please.”

Mr Doyle indicated two seats squashed around a small table under one of the windows. Jack looked out and saw a building on the other side. A woman hung washing on a makeshift line slung between two balconies. On another balcony a few floors below, two men sat on a pair of stools drinking cups of tea. One of them burst into laughter and fell backwards off his seat. Jack suspected there was more than tea in the cups.

Pushing aside a pile of books and a statue of the Eiffel Tower, Mr Doyle planted two mugs of steaming chocolate between them.

“Hot chocolate,” Mr Doyle said. “Elixir of the Gods.”

Jack gingerly sipped his drink. It was delicious. But – .

Could it be drugged? Mr Doyle and Gloria both seemed friendly, but could it all be part of an evil plan? He took another sip. The temptation was too strong.

Goodbye London, he thought. Hello, Saudi Arabia.

“Ah, Bertha,” Mr Doyle said, rising to his feet. He walked over to the fish tank, pulled a dead cricket from a nearby jar and dropped it in.

Jack watched in some horror as an enormous spider scurried over to the cricket and started to devour it.

“Haplopelma lividum,” Mr Doyle said. “The Cobalt Blue Tarantula.” He gazed down fondly at the creature before turning to Jack. “Do you have a favourite arachnid, Mr Mason?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Any spider that’s under my shoe while I’m wearing it.”

Mr Doyle looked at him, stupefied.

He suddenly got the joke and burst out laughing. “Oh, very droll. But I must warn you that Bertha can only be handled by someone trained in arachnology. I must ask you not to play with her unsupervised.”

“I promise,” Jack said, seeing no problems in keeping that particular pledge.

“Now I will give you the grand tour,” Mr Doyle said.

The grand tour proved to be something like a cross between a jaunt through the British Museum and navigating a building site. Mr Doyle indicated various objects of interest. “Shrunken heads from Malta. My complete collection of cigar ash from the Birmingham and Leeds districts. Ah, now this is interesting.”

They stopped to pause before a cupboard. On one shelf assorted plates held samples of bread in various stages of decomposition. Moulds of various colours sprouted over the food. A small plate with a piece of cheese sat next to the others.

“I’m conducting an experiment into the rate of decomposition of bread at room temperature,” Mr Doyle explained. “It’s for a case I’m handling for the Surrey Police.”

“And the cheese?”

“Oh, that’s just yesterday’s lunch. Left it here by accident.” He popped the piece of cheese into his mouth.

Towards the back of the huge chamber, Mr Doyle pushed open a door and pointed inside.

“Here are your lodgings,” he said.

Jack looked inside.

His mouth fell open.

My lodgings, he thought.

Back at the orphanage Jack shared a room of this size with seven other boys. It had measured about twelve feet square. Four sets of bunk beds crammed the interior. The room had no windows. A single gaslight illuminated the chamber in the brief hour before the boys went to bed.

Jack stepped into his new bedroom. Late afternoon sunlight steamed through the window, illuminating a wardrobe, chest of drawers, a freshly made bed and a desk. The walls were freshly painted. A sketch of a dog leaping over a stream decorated one wall. A door led off to one side.

“Your bathroom is through there,” Mr Doyle explained.

My bathroom, Jack thought. I have a bathroom.

He staggered over to the door and pulled it open. A toilet, shower, hand basin and bathtub filled the interior. Black and white tiles decorated the floor. A vase with a small bunch of posies sat on the basin.

“I hope you don’t mind the flowers,” Mr Doyle said, looking slightly embarrassed. “They were Gloria’s idea.”

Jack found it hard to speak.

“The flowers are fine,” he said finally.

Mr Doyle continued his tour through the huge apartment. At one point they stopped before a closed door leading into another anteroom. After looking at it silently for a moment, Mr Doyle moved on and pointed out another experiment on the top of a filing cabinet – this one was being carried out to discover the life cycle of maggots into flies.

“Uh, Mr Doyle,” Jack started.

“Yes, my boy.”

“What exactly is it you do?”

“What do I do?” Mr Doyle raised his eyebrows. “Why, I thought you knew.”

“Not really.”

“Why, I’m a consulting detective,” he explained.

“And what exactly is a consulting detective?” Jack asked cautiously.

Mr Doyle led them down the far end of the chamber. An archway led to a balcony overlooking the Marylebone district and Regent’s Park. Lines of airships criss-crossed the sky. Smoke rose from a thousand coal fires. A steam train chuffed between buildings to their left as horns sounded distantly from the river Thames. The older man settled his thin frame onto a wrought iron chair and indicated for Jack to sit down. He took another moment to pack a triple chambered brass pipe with tobacco and lit it thoughtfully.

“The world has changed, Mr Mason,” Mr Doyle said. “And so have the criminals. The police are good enough when dealing with the run of the mill scoundrel. Such a vagabond will often be caught in the act or will simply confess when confronted by a burly constable.

“But what can the police do when they are forced to deal with a criminal matching their own intelligence? Or an adversary of greater intelligence?” Mr Doyle leant forward. “Such people can literally get away with murder and that cannot be allowed to happen. When the police are at a loss to discover the guilty party or are simply unable to make sense of the events, they call upon me.”

Jack frowned. “I don’t keep up with the news, of course, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of you.”

“I’m sure you have not,” Mr Doyle nodded. “I am not keen to attract attention and the police are equally sparing with their recognition.”

“But how do you solve these crimes?” Jack asked.

“I use the powers of observation and deduction,” Mr Doyle said. “People frequently look, but rarely do they see. It is the role of a detective to collect the pieces of the jigsaw and assemble them into a comprehensible picture.”

Jack glanced back into the apartment and noticed a sepia photograph on a small coffee table near the door. “Mr Doyle. Is that who I think it is?”

Mr Doyle glanced at the picture. “Only if you think it is Queen Victoria. If you thought it was a hump backed gorilla you would be mistaken.”

“And you’re standing next to her!”

“I had assisted Her Majesty in a small matter involving a diamond necklace.” The detective shrugged. “The case involved the theft of the necklace, a dwarf with a limp, a plum pudding and a cat with only three legs.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Oh, I have solved much more interesting cases.” Mr Doyle waved the pipe airily. He stood and slowly paced the balcony. “That was in my younger days.”

The great detective fell silent. “Of course, I’m not the man I was. Oh, mentally I am. Probably more so. No, it’s my body, Jack. I’m not as fast, not as strong and certainly not as sprightly.”

Jack sat silent.

“That’s where you come in,” Mr Doyle said. “That’s why I need you.”

Jack Mason tried to think of how he would be of assistance to the detective. “You mean, to run messages…or…”

“More,” Mr Doyle said. “Possibly much more. I need someone to be my partner. Someone who can stimulate my imagination when I become stale. Someone who can go places where I cannot.”

“Uh, Mr Doyle. I am only sixteen.”

“I know,” the detective jabbed his pipe into Jack’s direction. “A younger mind. A fresh perspective! And your legs –”

“My legs?”

“I need someone with legs far more capable than my own. I cannot run as fast as my younger self and I certainly cannot climb as fast. And I understand you come from a family of circus performers.”

“Yes.” Jack felt a stab of pain at the memory. “We were trapeze artists in the circus. The Flying Sparrows. We were very good.”

“And your acrobatic skills?”

“I’m a little rusty,” Jack admitted. “But I’ve kept in practice when I could. Still, I can’t help but wonder if you wouldn’t be better with someone older. An adult –.”

Mr Doyle interrupted. “An adult can do many things, but you can do so many other things an adult cannot. Sometimes a young person may ask questions or go places without fear or favour, all the while wearing a mask of innocence.

“I think you will be perfect for the job.” The detective paused, looking slightly embarrassed. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Jack looked out at the skyline. Darkness had begun to fall and the first chill of night filled the air. Jack thought of the children back at the orphanage. They would be eating their evening meal right now. An hour of free time would follow, followed by bedtime. Tomorrow would follow the same pattern. And the day after.

“You don’t have to decide immediately,” Mr Doyle seemed to sense his hesitation. “I’m sure you’ve had an enormous day. You must eat and rest.”

Jack nodded wordlessly.

“Would you like some cheese?” the detective asked. “I think I have some in another cupboard.”

“No thanks, Mr Doyle.”

The detective led Jack back to his bedroom. He paused outside the door. “I have arranged a tutor for you. Miss Bardle. She will teach you maths, French and Latin, history and politics.”

“Ah yes, Latin,” Jack said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Yes, I always hated Latin too.” The detective motioned towards the chest of drawers. “A selection of clothing is in the drawers. I hope it fits. I checked your size with Mr Daniels at the orphanage. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it and see you in the morning.”

Jack nodded. He closed the door and changed for bed. The pyjamas were a little large, but very comfortable. Before he turned off the lamp, he reached into his pocket and took out the picture of his parents. It was the only one he owned. It showed the three of them in their costumes. Above them hung a banner – The Flying Sparrows.

He missed them. He missed the fun and the laughter and everything that made up their small family. It was always The Flying Sparrows versus the world. Outside he heard the sounds of London; horse drawn carriages, steam cars, men and women walking the streets. The faint glow of the gas lit streets cast faint shadows across his walls.

Now there’s just me, he thought.

He remembered Bertha the tarantula. Well, me and Bertha. He hoped the lid on her glass enclosure was properly closed.

Forcing the image of the spider from his mind, he finally surrendered to sleep.

Chapter Four

Jack stirred himself from a deep sleep. He had been dreaming of a mine in Saudi Arabia where he had been forced to work until overcome by exhaustion. Cheese had been his only food source. The overseer had just approached him with a deadly looking whip when he was saved by the sound of knocking.

He sat up groggily. Light streamed through his window. The clock on his bedside table read ten o’clock.

“Come in,” Jack called.

Ignatius Doyle appeared in the doorway of his room with a piece of toast jammed between his teeth.

“The game’s afoot,” the detective said.

Jack blinked away sleep. “Uh, what’s that? You want to play footy?”

“No, no,” Mr Doyle assured him. “That’s just an expression. We have a client in the outer office. I need you showered and ready in five minutes. Chop chop, old chap.”

Mr Doyle disappeared. Jack quickly showered and dressed in only four minutes. The clothing provided by the detective was all clean and new. Jack put on a pair of dark trousers and a blue and white striped shirt. It was the best quality clothing he had ever worn. He discovered the detective at their living room table surrounded by plates of toast, condiments and hot tea. Jack Mason buttered the bread and slapped on jam while Mr Doyle explained.

“There is a young lady outside,” he said. “She arrived quite early without an appointment so I asked her to wait until you were ready.”

“Sorry,” Jack said though a mouthful of toast. “I must have been tired.”

“Understandable, dear boy,” Mr Doyle said. “Shall I call in the young woman?”

Jack nodded and sipped at his tea. He felt like he was in some foreign land with someone asking him for directions. In the brief time since he had woken, he had begun to wonder if Mr Doyle were perhaps quite mad and Jack’s role was simply to keep him under control. He had already decided to ask Gloria to confirm this when the door opened and the most beautiful young girl Jack had ever seen walked into the room.

She had clear green eyes and fair skin and looked to be about eighteen years old. Her long hair was bright red, like the colour on the union jack. She wore a slim fitting white dress, a black leather bustier and aviator goggles to protect her eyes from the sun. A black, short sleeved bolero encompassed her shoulders. Clutching a handbag in one hand and an umbrella in the other, her clothing looked expensive.

She was a beautiful girl, but her face looked strained with worry. Her eyes studied Ignatius Doyle before shifting to settle on Jack.

Jack swallowed.

“Please come in,” the detective welcomed her. “I’d like to introduce you to my associate, Mr Jack Mason.”

“I…I’m please to meet you,” Jack stuttered.

“This is Miss Bell,” Mr Doyle said. “Miss Scarlet Bell.”

“Hello, Mr Mason” she said.

“Please call me Jack.”

She attempted a smile. “Jack.”

Mr Doyle indicated a seat for her. As she sat, he offered her tea. “You’ve already had a long day. I notice you started early this morning from Flinders Park.”

Scarlet looked surprised. “However do you know that, Mr Doyle?”

“I observe you have the stub of a rail ticket protruding from your right pocket. It bears the colour blue, indicating the Flinders Park line. You carry an umbrella, yet it is dry. It rained most of the morning, only stopping an hour ago. Hence, you departed your home early.”

“That’s marvellous, Mr Doyle.”

“Nothing to speak of,” Mr Doyle replied. “How may we be of service?”

“My father’s name is Joseph Bell. He has gone missing.” She spoke with a tremor in her voice. “He has been gone for two days.”

“Is he in the habit of disappearing?”

“Not at all. He is a very responsible man. He always tells me where he is going or he leaves a note for me. However…”

“What is it?” The detective studied her face. “You must tell me the truth or I cannot help you.”

She looked down into the cup. “He is my father and I love him dearly, but he does have a secretive side.”

“Secretive? In what way?”

“He has never disappeared before, but sometimes he has gone away for days at a time on business.”

“That can’t be too unusual,” Mr Doyle said.

“It’s not. He says he is in the import and export trade.”

“But you doubt this? Why?”

“He…he…” Scarlet suddenly burst into tears.

Mr Doyle looked embarrassed. Jack was unsure as to what to say so he grabbed a box of tissues and offered them to the young lady. She took one gratefully.

“Thank you, young man.”

“Uh, actually, I’m sixteen,” Jack said, trying to draw himself up to full height.

“Oh,” Scarlet shot him a smile. “Quite grown up.”

Jack set his jaw in as adult a manner as possible. “Quite.”

“I do apologise,” Scarlet said. “It’s a terrible thing to doubt your own father, but I have always suspected him to lead a double life.”

“What brought you to that conclusion?” the detective asked.

“He always tells me when he is going away. Or he will leave me a note. He never simply disappears. Having said that, he often comes and goes at all hours. Sometimes he is gone for days and weeks at a time, yet he keeps up this illusion of it all being part of his business.”

“And you think it is not?”

“On more than one occasion I have checked his passport and not found any stamps indicating his travel to other countries. At other times he had received visitors at odd hours. I have asked my father the next morning about his late night callers and he has denied their existence.”

Jack was beginning to feel like a loose cog. “That does sound unusual,” he said. “Anything else?”

“He came home last week with a cut above his eye. When I asked him about it he told me he had fallen and hit his head.”

“And you did not believe him,” Mr Doyle said.

“It’s always possible,” Scarlet admitted. “But after the incident he began to take other precautions. He placed extra locks on all the doors and windows and told me not to go out at night.”

“Miss Bell,” Mr Doyle began.

“Please call me Scarlet.”

“Scarlet, I think it is important you do not jump to conclusions. There may very well be a logical explanation for everything that has occurred.”

“Such as?”

“You have not mentioned your mother.”

“She passed away many years ago.”

“Your father may have formed a relationship with another woman and may have not told you for fear of hurting your feelings. They may have argued – possibly violently. It has been written that Hell has no fury like a woman scorned. Possibly he feared for your safety, hence the new locks on the doors.”

“All the more reason to fear for his absence,” Scarlet said. “Oh please Mr Doyle. Please help me. The police have given no assistance at all.”

“I will help you,” Mr Doyle bowed his head. “We will journey to your home today.”

“Oh thank you,” Scarlet said. “Thank you.”

Mr Doyle turned to Jack. “Can you pack a small bag for yourself in case we are gone overnight. I already have one ready. We will meet on the balcony in five minutes.”

“On the balcony?”

Mr Doyle did not answer him. He had already left to speak to Gloria about rearranging his diary. Jack gave Scarlet a quick nod and hurried to his room. Packing his bag only took a moment. He threw on a long dark green coat and picked up a pair of goggles from the top of the chest of drawers.

These are cracking good, he thought. Very stylish.

Looking through them experimentally, he discovered a small sliding switch on the side that made it possible to magnify things at close distance. Now that he thought about it, Mr Doyle’s goggles had a similar control. He returned the goggles to their normal setting and jammed them on his head.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he thought he looked rather spiffy.

A moment later he exited and started towards the reception room. He stopped himself. Had the detective really mentioned the balcony? Perhaps it was a slip of the tongue. He found Scarlet leaning on the railing looking out at the city.

“It’s a beautiful view from here,” Jack said, desperate to make conversation. In his entire life he had never spoken to a girl as beautiful as Scarlet. In fact, he had never even envisioned a girl as beautiful as Scarlet could even exist. She made the girls back at the orphanage look like hedgehogs and walruses.

“It is, indeed,” Scarlet said. “Have you been Mr Doyle’s assistant for long?”

“Er, no, not very long,” Jack stammered. “Lovely day out here. Might be some rain later.”

“And what exactly do you do for Mr Doyle?”

Jack didn’t want to say he had only worked for the detective for less than a day. “Just assist him, you know, general like.”

“I see.”

Mr Doyle made his appearance at that moment. “Just this way, thank you.”

He started climbing up an iron ladder to the roof of the building. Jack had not noticed it before. Scarlet went next, so Jack was the last to stand upright on the roof to see Mr Doyle’s surprise.

An airship.

“You have your own airship,” Jack said, in wonder.

“Not many people have their own airship,” Scarlet said, looking impressed.

“She’s called the Lion’s Mane. A gift from a grateful client,” Mr Doyle explained. “It was a case involving a murder and an octopus and a –. Well, never mind. Shall we board?”

The vessel measured some thirty feet in length and about half that across. The main balloon was silver in colour. The gondola was red and gold. A stylised profile of a lion decorated the bow. The vessel rolled slightly as they entered the main compartment of the vessel.

It was two chambers. A glass dividing wall separated the living room from the engine room and bridge.

I’m in heaven, Jack thought. He felt like he was walking on air. He had never travelled on an airship before. Covering his mouth, he hoped Scarlet didn’t notice the expression on his face – he felt like he was grinning like a loon.

If the other kids at the orphanage could see me now –!

Ignatius Doyle pushed a few buttons on the main control panel. “I started the boiler earlier, so this shouldn’t take very long.” He fiddled with the controls. A small shot of steam spat out from the side of the vessel. A dial on the board wavered in the green.

“I will release the mooring cables,” Mr Doyle said. “First the front. Now the rear.”

The cables fell away and the Lion’s Mane gently started forward. Within moments it had drifted away from the roof of the building and away from Bee Street. Jack gripped one of the hand rails tightly.

Jack’s heart pounded with excitement. His face felt flushed. “I’ve never flown before,” he said. “Not in an airship, anyway.”

He noticed Scarlet’s startled expression.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

Chapter Five

The airship rose higher above the city.

“I had to apply for a pilot’s licence,” Mr Doyle explained. “I’m now fully qualified to fly a flying boat containing up to sixteen passengers. Any more than that and I would have to upgrade my license.”

“You’re a man of many talents,” Scarlet said, looking at Mr Doyle with new respect.

A sudden thought occurred to Jack. Looking out at the city below, he asked, “Were you in the war, Mr Doyle?”

“I was.”

“And what did you do?”

Mr Doyle did not answer him for so long that Jack thought he must not have heard. He turned away from the view and looked into the older man’s face. He saw a frozen expression, as if the detective were staring into the past.

“I commanded a regiment in France,” he said. “Many men served under me. Young good men.” He said the words stiffly as if struggling to put the sentences together. “We fought many battles together. Some we won. Others we lost.” Mr Doyle looked embarrassed. He looked down and tapped his leg. “That’s where this happened. A piece of shrapnel, courtesy of the Kaiser. Still in there.”

Jack looked at Scarlet and noticed her looking at him with a slight frown on her face. He was unsure why she was giving him such a severe expression. “Do you have any medals, Mr Doyle?” Jack continued.

“There is a time and a place for everything,” Mr Doyle said evenly. “This is neither.”

“London is changing,” Scarlet suddenly said.

I’m an idiot, Jack thought. The older girl had been quicker in realising Mr Doyle felt uncomfortable in discussing the war and now she was rapidly changing the subject.

“The city is growing all the time,” she continued. “The old buildings are being torn down and being replaced by the new.”

“The invention of Milverton’s bacteria has changed everything,” Mr Doyle said.

Jack frowned. Who was Milverton? Wasn’t he the chap at the Olympics? But what was this business about his bacteria?

“Ah yes,” Jack said. “Milverton’s bacteria. Good old Milverton. Where would we be without it. Er, him.”

He suddenly realised both Scarlet and Mr Doyle were looking at him.

“Alright,” Jack shrugged. “I give up. What does it do?”

“It was discovered by Darwinist, James Milverton,” Mr Doyle explained. “Engineered in a lab in Surrey, it has a strength two hundred times that of steel. The compound can still be used to coat individual bricks, stonework and other materials to build structures far larger than anything ever thought possible.”

With those words the airship rose up above the buildings of the West End and the entire horizon of London lay before them. The new mega structures, all built since the war, lay before them – the new Parliament House, the British Art Museum and New Buckingham palace. All three buildings climbed over two hundred stories in height – but what drew the eye was the piece de resistance of British engineering.

The London metrotower.

“Milverton’s Bacteria is changing the world,” Mr Doyle said. “We wouldn’t have the metrotower without it.”

They seated themselves around the small bridge and travelled in silence for a time as they continued to ascend. The landscape of London lay beneath them, smoke and steam rising up from it, blanketing the city in a shifting grey cloud. Mr Doyle manoeuvred the Lion’s Mane in the same direction as other airships departing the city. Eventually they hovered under a line of other ships heading East.

Jack noticed almost all of the ships were passenger or transport vessels with their company emblems emblazoned on the side. Only a few of them bore individual markings like the Lion’s Mane.

“That’s the Highbridge,” the detective pointed out. “Belongs to the Queen’s nephew. And there’s the Musgrave. Belongs to that industrialist fellow, Beets.”

The sun broke through the cloud cover above them, dousing their vessel in patches of warm light. Jack leant against the window, took a deep breath and exhaled.

For a moment – just a moment – the pain of his parent’s deaths seemed to evaporate. Sometimes he felt their deaths so keenly he wanted to burst into tears, but mostly he felt their loss like a lead weight strapped to his chest. The sensation was always there, a stifling heaviness that never disappeared.

Now as he looked from the window the burden seemed to dissipate.

Maybe this really can be a fresh start, he thought.

Gradually Mr Doyle adjusted their trajectory and started their descent towards Flinders Park. They gently drifted through the smoke and fog below until the vista of roofs lay beneath them.

“Can you see your home, yet, Miss Bell?” Jack asked.

“Why, yes, yes I can,” she said excitedly. “I believe we can land in the street outside.”

“I’ll bring us down,” Mr Doyle said.

They slowly descended past the sea of rooves towards the footpath. A few curious passers–by slowed to watch them drift down into the street. They landed with barely a bump and Mr Doyle climbed out to secure the vessel to a nearby lamp post.

Miss Scarlet Bell’s residence was an apartment at the top of a three story building in a quiet back street of Camden. Jack and Mr Doyle followed her up the stairs until they reached the top floor. By the time they reached the final landing, Jack noticed Mr Doyle favouring his poor leg.

Scarlet opened the door and looked in. “Father, are you home? Oh!”

Her exclamation brought Jack and Mr Doyle into the room after her. They found themselves in a long narrow hall. A small side table lay overturned and the contents of its draw flung onto the floor. As they made their way through the apartment, they found it had been completely ransacked. The contents of every drawer had been taken out and cast onto the floor. Wardrobes had been emptied. The contents of cabinets were flung everywhere. The kitchen cabinets had been emptied, their contents unceremoniously flung onto the floor.

“I assume this is not your usual standard of housekeeping,” Mr Doyle said gently.

“Absolutely not,” Scarlet said, her face flushed with anger.

“I’ll make tea,” Jack offered.

“Good man,” Mr Doyle said.

By the time Jack had finished and poured tea into cups, Mr Doyle had searched most of the apartment.

“It seems you may have been correct in fearing for your father,” he said, patting the poor girl’s shoulder. “Whilst there is nothing to indicate he has been harmed, someone was certainly searching for something.”

“I wonder if they found it,” Jack tipped some broken crockery into a bin.

“It is impossible to say,” Mr Doyle said. “However, it seems likely they were unsuccessful. Scarlet, did your father own a safe?”

She sat up. “Yes, how foolish of me. I should have checked it immediately.”

They hurried to her father’s bedroom. A safe lay open in a wall behind a curtain. A few pages remained in the safe. Most of the other papers had been thrown over the floor. Some of them lay under bedding that had been dragged off the bed during the search.

“It seems they did not find what they were seeking,” Mr Doyle said.

“Are you sure?” Jack asked.

Mr Doyle nodded. “This bedding has been thrown over some of the papers taken from the safe, so it seems the search of the apartment continued after the safe was opened.” The detective seemed lost in thought for a long moment. “This leads me to two conclusions. One, that the perpetrators will continue to search for that which they seek. And two…”

He turned to Scarlet. “I’m afraid you may very well be in some danger, my dear.”

A distant rumble of thunder sounded overhead, as if to emphasise the great detective’s words.

“Me?” Scarlet asked, surprised.

“Absolutely,” Mr Doyle responded. “I believe the criminals have tried to extract the information from your father without success. Then they have conducted a search of your apartment. The next logical step is to see if you can furnish them with what they need.”

“But I know nothing!”

“We know that, but they do not.” Mr Doyle stared into space for a moment before turning again to Scarlet. “I must ask you to remain in the parlour for a few minutes while we conduct our own search.”

“Of course,” she responded.

“It means we will have to search your own private effects.” Mr Doyle blushed slightly. “Even your clothing.”

“I have nothing to hide,” she said firmly. “I am a modern woman.”

Jack and Mr Doyle searched the apartment for the next hour, peering under furniture and going through each item one by one. Jack pointed out how difficult it was to actually find the object of their quest when they were unsure as to what it actually was.

“We will know it when we see it,” Mr Doyle said.

After some time Mr Doyle started tapping the walls of the apartment. He began in Scarlet’s room, then moved to her fathers and then finally the common rooms. After a time he called Jack into Joseph Bell’s study.

“My boy,” he said. “Would you be so kind as to pace out the length of this room?”

“Yes sir,” Jack said.

He started at the far end where a bookcase ran the whole length of the room and walked from that end to the opposite wall.

“Seven paces,” Jack said.

“Now come to the next room,” Mr Doyle instructed.

They walked down the hall to the adjacent room which was Scarlet’s bedroom. Jack paced from one end to the other and announced the distance to be ten paces. Finally Mr Doyle took him back to the hallway and asked him to pace the distance of the two rooms.

“Twenty,” Jack said, frowning.

“I thought so,” Mr Doyle said. “Either the builders did not know their maths or something is not quite right.”

They returned to the study. Every book had been ripped off the shelves and flung onto the floor by the perpetrators who had broken in. It took some time for Jack and Mr Doyle to clear the floor. Finally Mr Doyle stood in front of the bookcase, examining the shelves.

“This seems solid enough. And this.” He stood on a chair and ran his hand along the top edge. “Now there’s something –.”

A click sounded from the bookcase and it moved slightly towards them.

“A secret room,” Jack said in astonishment.

“Not any more,” Mr Doyle climbed down from the chair. “I suspected as much.”

He pulled on the edge of the bookcase and it swung open like an enormous door. Scarlet chose that moment to enter the room.

“What have you –. Oh!”

“Oh, indeed,” Mr Doyle said.

The interior of the room measured three feet deep by six feet across. It contained shelving and a single hanging light. The room appeared empty except for an item sitting on the middle shelf. A painting.

Jack was no judge of art, but he could tell good from bad. The painting showed a small group of men on horseback in the midst of battle. The scene looked so realistic Jack felt he could step right into the heart of the action.

“That’s amazing,” he breathed.

“Amazing is an understatement,” Mr Doyle said. “It’s a painting called The Battle of Anghiari by Leonardo da Vinci. I don’t believe the history books have ever previously mentioned it.”

“Are you sure?” Scarlet asked.

“I’m as certain as I can be,” Mr Doyle replied. “The brush stroke is Leonardo’s. The only known copies of this are a few sketches and what was to be the final finished work – a fresco in the Hall of Five Hundred in Florence, Italy. That work has since been lost.

“This is a previously unknown smaller version painted by the master. Possibly he painted it in preparation prior to attempting the final piece.”

A clap of thunder rumbled overhead as Jack stared at the masterpiece. He heard the soft static of falling rain emanating from beyond the building as the storm began in earnest. The bright light entering through the windows had dimmed to twilight.

“But what is it doing here?” Scarlet asked, her face turning almost as red as her name. “How did it come into my father’s possession?”

“Well, that’s the mystery, isn’t it?” The detective tilted his head. “It reminds me of a case I once had involving a sketch by Rembrandt and a South American shrunken head –.”

Jack interrupted. “Is it valuable?”

“Valuable?” Mr Doyle mused. “Hmmm. Jack, you understand the value of a pound? You know what you can buy with it?”

Jack had never had so much money in his possession. “Yes. A lot.”

“Well, you would probably need about ten million of them to purchase this masterpiece,” Mr Doyle said. “Possibly a lot more.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. “For a painting?”

“Leonardo’s paintings are exceedingly rare. Only a handful of them are known to exist.”

They stood in silence looking at the amazing piece. The half light of the storm seemed to give more verisimilitude to the battle scene. Jack had not seen many paintings in his life, and most of them seemed to depict men or women standing around in rooms looking like they wanted to either drink tea or break into a ballroom waltz.

This painting was different. It almost seemed…alive. Jack nodded to himself. Mr da Vinci had certainly known how to paint.

“Wait a moment,” Mr Doyle said. “There is something else.”

“Another painting?” Jack asked.

“No,” he said. “Hopefully something that may provide us with a lead.”

A writing pad lay on one of the lower shelves. None of them had noticed it before because of the gloom.

Mr Doyle picked up the pad. “I think we need to examine this in the light.”

They exited to the main parlour. Mr Doyle held the paper up to the light and placed his goggles over his eyes. He activated the magnification switch. “I can make out some impressions on this page. I believe it is an address, a date and a time. Scarlet, could you please hand me a pencil?”

“Of course.”

Mr Doyle continued to peer at the page. “I believe a pencil will bring out the impression on this piece of stationery.”

Scarlet suddenly sneezed.

“Bless you, my dear,” Mr Doyle said.

“It’s turned right cold,” Jack said.

“It has rather, hasn’t it?” Mr Doyle said. “Is the front door –.”

Scarlet, looking past them, screamed.

Chapter Six

A figure stood in the doorway behind them. He wore a long coat, a scarf across his face so that only his eyes were visible and a hat pulled down over his brow.

“Give me that!” he growled.

He crashed into Mr Doyle and grabbed the piece of paper.

The detective fell sideways onto the floor as the assailant turned and ran towards the open door.

“The paper!” Mr Doyle yelled. “We must not lose it!”

Jack gave chase.

The assailant ran down the stairs two and three at a time and Jack matched him step for step.

He’s so fast, Jack marvelled. The man was taller than Jack and amazingly agile.

The assailant reached the bottom of the stairs before Jack and immediately sprinted away.

Jack reached the street and saw the thief moving away from him at a great speed. The storm had now properly broken and the rain fell in a mighty downpour. Jack splashed through enormous puddles, sending sprays of the water in all directions as he chased the assailant. The man raced through a tunnel ahead. An old drunk wandering in the opposite direction got in his way and the thief gave him a shove, sending him flying.

Jack willed himself to run faster. He was determined to retrieve the page. Unfortunately running had never been his strong point – it was a skill he had never needed to hone – and to make matters worse, two years at the orphanage had left him a little out of shape. Still, he was determined to catch up with the man. The thief had assaulted Mr Doyle and the detective had only been good to Jack. Now he had to repay that kindness.

The thief raced up a set of stairs. Jack followed him. He realised the stairs led up to a railway platform. The man pushed his way through a crowd that had just disembarked from a train. A whistle sounded up and down the platform.

No! The train was due to depart!

He would not make it through the entrance gate with so many people pushing through, so he only had one chance. Building up speed, he ran directly at the metal railing fence surrounding the platform. Leaping, he pulled himself over the top and landed lightly on his feet on the other side of the platform.

The automatic steam powered doors of the train slid shut.

Blooming hell!

A station attendant yelled at him, but he ignored the man as he ran towards the train. Steam and smoke billowed out from the train as it started to pull away from the station. Jack raced towards the nearest set of sliding doors.

Landing on the small ledge before the doors, he pulled hard at one of the handles and the door drew back a few inches. It shut again – steam pistons and cogs were designed to keep the doors shut during transit. He pulled back on the door again with all his might and this time it opened enough to push his shoulder through the gap.

Open up!

Open, damn you!

A large hand gripped the edge of the door.

“What’re you up to, mate?” A big factory worker – a man clad in blackened overalls and a cap – jerked the door open, allowing Jack to spill into the vestibule of the carriage. “In a bi’ of an ‘urry?”

“Yes. Sorry. Thanks.”

Breathing hard from the chase, Jack stumbled past the man and peered down the hall of the carriage. He was in second class. Rows of seats facing each other all the way down the carriage. His heart pounding, Jack slowly navigated the aisle.

What would he do when he saw the man? Grab him? Try to wrestle him to the ground? Jack shook his head. What a ridiculous idea. Maybe he could cause a ruckus. Tell everyone about the theft and start yelling for someone to call a constable. Jack swallowed hard. Would they believe a kid, or would –.

A door slammed shut behind him.

Jack turned around. The thief stood at the far end of the carriage. Obviously he had just stepped through and now stood staring at Jack in amazement.

Do something, Jack’s brain commanded.

But instead of launching into some sort of daring plan that would bring the thief down, Jack found himself staring dumbly at the man as his mind went blank.

An instant later the thief turned and disappeared through the door.

Bazookas! Jack cursed himself. I’m an idiot! Jack raced after the man. A woman started to rise from her seat and Jack tumbled into her.

“Sorry,” he grunted.

“Excuse me –!” the woman began.

Jack raced on. He reached the end of the carriage and stepped onto the open walkway leading to the next carriage. The path, made from metal planks, swayed under him as the train screamed along the track. He gripped the chain link hand railing on both sides to steady himself as he crossed.

Pushing the door open ahead of him, he stumbled into the vestibule of the next carriage.

He was just in time to see the back of the thief disappearing through the opposite door.

Too late. Again.

Jack sprinted down the corridor with surprised faces staring at him as he passed. Pulling the door open, he entered the vestibule, hurried across to the door exiting the carriage and threw himself through.

He was half way across the swaying path leading to the next carriage when the door opposite him flew open. A fist appeared out of nowhere and slammed into his eye. Jack cried out dazed. As he fell sideways the top half of him fell over the railing. He struggled to upright himself. A pair of hands gripped the seat of his pants.

“No!” he screamed.

The rattling of the steam engine swallowed his scream.

He felt his legs lifted as he was tipped head first over the railing.

His parents had taught him how to roll – by curling into a ball – and now he drew himself together as he fell and grabbed blindly. One hand found purchase on the base of the metal bridge as he brought his knees up to his chin. He swung from the pathway, trying to bring his other hand up.

Jack’s fingers slipped.

No!

His other hand grabbed the bridge and for a long moment nothing else existed – not the chuffing of the train, not the bang of the door as his assailant slammed the door shut, not even the rattling as the train charged along the tracks at full pace.

I will hold on, he told himself. I will not fall. I will be alright.

Maybe his head believed it, but his heart was still pounding so hard against his ribcage it felt ready to burst through his chest. Finally he glanced upwards. Alright, his hands were secure. He judged the distance to the swaying hand rail and reached up with his free hand. When he knew his grip was sturdy, he pulled himself up and climbed back onto the metal path.

He was alive. But he had forgotten how to breathe. Now he sucked in lungfuls of air as his legs threatened to collapse under him. He thanked his parents wherever they were.

“Practice, practice, practice,” his father had told him. “One day it will save your life.”

Today was that day.

Jack steadied himself and pushed the door open ahead of him. His legs were shaking as if he was hovering on stilts, but he felt more determined than ever to continue onwards.

For as long as Jack would live – and he was presently quite unsure how long that might be – he knew he would never forget the expression of shock in the eyes of the thief. The man sat in the furthest seat away, the scarf still pulled up around his face. He was staring straight ahead into space, obviously contemplating his cleverness at throwing a sixteen year old boy under the wheels of a moving train. As Jack entered the carriage, the man’s eyes snapped open, wide with astonishment.

That’s right, Jack thought. I don’t die that easily.

The man leapt to his feet, turned tail and exited through the end door. As Jack started down the aisle, another train came alongside as the tracks drew parallel to each other. Jack heard the faraway sound of a door being yanked open.

The thief was opening the door to the outside of the train!

A terrible suspicion started to form in the back of Jack’s mind. He hoped he was wrong.

Running the length of the carriage, Jack opened the door leading to the vestibule area. He was right. There was no door at the opposite end. Jack threw himself at the exit door to his right and tugged it open with all his strength.

He looked across to the opposite train. Passengers often complained about the condition of the exit doors – the closing mechanism frequently failed, leaving the doors to slide open and shut without warning.

The door in the train running parallel to his carriage was wide open.

Oh dear, he thought. I was afraid of that.

The thief had jumped across the gap from one train to the other. Jack had performed somersaults, double and triple hundreds of times, but always with a net. Jumping between moving trains was like asking for a trip to the hospital – or more likely the morgue.

He cautiously stuck his head out – and jerked it back in again. An upright metal stanchion whizzed past him at great speed. He peered back out again. Both trains were about to pass through separate tunnels.

It was now or never.

If the trains headed off in two different directions he would never catch the thief. A wall clad in black soot flashed past him. The two train lines drew parallel again – but now the other train had pulled ahead slightly. It started to increase speed again.

No!

Jack undid his belt and dragged it from his pants. Looking to his left, he drew back again, struggling to hold the door open with his free hand. Another metal stanchion flew past. This time he leant out of the train and swung the belt in a tight loop.

Come on!

Now!

He cracked his belt like a whip at the last moment and the end wrapped around the hand railing of the open door. He pulled down hard on it, creating a tighter grip, glanced to his left again.

He jumped.

His whole focus lay on the hand railing as he pulled tightly on the length of leather. For an instant he saw his mother’s face as she smiled at him from the top of the trapeze, encouraging him toward her. A second later his free hand grasped the outside hand railing of the other train. He swung himself through the doorway and slammed into the opposite wall.

A hand rolled cigarette fell out of the mouth of a man standing nearby.

“Blimey,” he said. “Are you people completely daft?”

Jack picked himself up. “Where did the other fellow go?”

The man pointed behind him. Jack retrieved his belt and cautiously glanced down the corridor. The train was almost empty, but two seats before him, immediately to his left, he saw the hat of the thief projecting above the top of the seat. The man had obviously assumed he had left him back on the other train.

No such luck.

His heart pounding, Jack opened the door of the carriage and stepped in. He moved into the seat behind the thief. Caught a glimpse of the piece of paper clasped between the man’s slim fingers.

Jack sat down. Alright, he had made it this far. Now what? He had his doubts about handling a fist fight with a grown adult, especially since the fellow had already knocked him down with a single punch.

Breathing shallowly, he sat back in the seat. A drizzle of sweat traced a path down his face. This reminded him of an act he had once seen at the circus. Two clowns – Oscar and Toby – did a performance involving a series of chairs one behind each other. Jack realised he did not have to attack the thief. He only had to retrieve the page.

Jack slowly slid down in the seat onto the floor. Ahead of him the carriage seats were attached to the floor with metal braces. He reached under the seat and gently looped his belt around the right shoe of the thief. Careful, he thought. Careful. He gently secured the belt to the nearest metal brace. He climbed back onto his seat, sweat now dripping down his face like a flood.

The train slowed. It started to pull into a platform. Time to go, Jack thought. He stood. The thief glanced out the window, but obviously did not intend to exit the train. He returned his gaze to the sheet, angling it towards the light.

The train stopped. Jack bent forward and in one smooth action pushed the man’s hat down low over his face and snatched the paper from his hand. The man gave a cry of surprise. Jack stepped quickly into the aisle and dragged open the door to the vestibule. He caught sight of his assailant falling face first onto the floor as he attempted to leap from his seat.

People were starting to stream onto the train.

“Excuse me!” he cried. “My mother’s waiting for me! Excuse me!”

The people parted as he pushed through them. A stairway led upstairs to his left. He took the steps two at a time to the passenger terminal at the top. He darted through the crowd, looking for a quick escape. People were everywhere. He could not exit via the main gates – he had no ticket. He had to board another train to put some distance between himself and the thief.

He glanced back.

Bazookas!

The thief was shoving people aside only a few feet behind him!

Jack felt light headed with terror. He pushed desperately through the crowd. A rich man with his wallet in hand stood to his right. Grabbing the wallet from him, Jack reefed out all the notes and held them high in the air.

“Excuse me,” the man exclaimed. “What are you –.”

“Money!” Jack cried. “Free money! Free money for all!”

With that, he threw the bundle of notes high into the air. Even before they had begun to descend, he was fighting his way towards a nearby set of stairs, packed with travellers.

“That man’s giving money away!” Jack pointed over his shoulder. “He’s giving away a thousand pounds!”

Jack glanced back.

Utter mayhem had erupted. People fell over each other trying to snatch money off the ground. At the heart of it was something resembling a football scrum with men and woman of all ages throwing themselves into the human pile. The owner of the cash was unsuccessfully trying to retrieve his notes from people’s hands.

Jack raced down the stairs leading to another platform. A train had just started to depart.

Not again, he groaned.

Reaching the edge of the platform, Jack’s eyes darted left and right. An open door lay about twenty feet ahead of him. He could do it. One last time. He darted between two old ladies and broke into a sprint. Grasping the piece of paper with all his might in one hand, he reached out and grabbed the hand rail of the locomotive. He leapt aboard.

Yes!

Jack felt like his lungs were about to explode. He glanced out the door to see the thief at the far end of the platform. Jack was too far away to see the expression in the man’s eyes, but he was willing to bet he looked far from happy.

He leaned out the door and waved. “Bye! Don’t forget to write!”

The man did not wave back.

Chapter Seven

“Let’s see what we have here,” Mr Doyle said.

Jack had been back in Scarlet’s home only a few minutes. Both she and Mr Doyle had just about jumped through the ceiling with excitement upon his return. Mr Doyle had even given him a brief hug. After that he had given him a stern talking to about risking his life.

“You are never to take such a terrible chance again,” he said.

Jack decided to gloss over some of the finer details of his chase.

“Mr Mason,” Scarlet said. “You were most brave chasing that scoundrel.”

Jack felt his face turning red, so he covered his cheeks, pretending to cough.

“All in a day’s work,” he said.

After that they turned their attention to the piece of paper. The rain had stopped outside and now dim sunlight streamed through the windows into the study of the apartment. This time Mr Doyle and locked and barred the door so they could work in peace.

Laying the sheet on the desk, he clasped a pencil and ran it lightly over the sheet. After a few seconds words appeared on the page. He peered down at them through his goggles.

“This is a location,” Mr Doyle said. “Dock sixteen West on the river.”

“Is that it?” Jack asked.

“It is indeed.”He turned to Scarlet. “Do you recognise this address in connection with your father?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “He kept an office in the East end.”

“What does it mean?” Jack asked.

Mr Doyle looked up. “It means we’re going fishing.”

Within minutes they were back aboard the Lion’s Mane, arcing across the sky. They joined a small line of airships that traced a route across to the Thames and followed the river downstream. A fine rain had started again, coating the city in a sheet of mist.

“It’s a good thing the airships follow standard flight paths across London,” Mr Doyle said. “Otherwise there would be chaos.”

“You’re a good pilot, Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said, laying a hand on his arm.

Jack noticed the movement. “My eye is rather sore.”

“Poor, Jack,” Scarlet sat next to him. “Let me examine your eye.”

Jack sat still while Scarlet studied his face. “You have lovely blue eyes, Jack.”

“Thank you, Scarlet,” Jack said. He felt giddy. “I think my chin is a little sore too.”

“Mr Mason,” Mr Doyle broke in. “Did I tell you about a case I handled in Surrey involving a man with a stuffed canary?”

Miss Scarlet broke away from him.

“No, Mr Doyle,” Jack said, a trifle annoyed. “You have not mentioned it.”

“Oh,” Mr Doyle said. “I’ll have to tell you about it some time.” The detective seemed to stifle a grin as he peered down towards the river. “We are now drawing close. I will try to find a spot to land in a side lane.”

The vessel drifted through the gently falling rain. Mr Doyle expertly guided the Lion’s Mane down a road running around the back of the warehouse. Finally it landed with a slight bump and the detective jumped out to leash the craft to an old horse pole. The others exited the ship and they huddled together in the mist for a moment. Rain cast a wet sheen across their features.

“This is an enormous warehouse,” Mr Doyle said. “One of the largest I have seen on the waterfront.” He turned to Jack. “My boy, have you ever handled a firearm?”

Bazookas! Jack thought. A gun.

He suddenly imagined himself mowing down countless attackers, whilst saving Scarlet’s life and being forced to take control of the Lion’s Mane. Later they would float over London and upon taking Scarlet’s hand –.

“Uh, Jack,” Mr Doyle interrupted his reverie.

“No, sir.” The dream faded into reality. “But I’m more than happy to try.”

“I think we may wait till you’ve taken a few lessons.” Mr Doyle turned to Scarlet. “I will not offer you a weapon, Miss Bell. A lady does not carry weapons.”

“On the contrary, Mr Doyle.” Scarlet reached into her purse and produced a small handgun. “I am quite skilled in the use of a revolver.”

“My dear,” Mr Doyle blustered. “A lady –.”

“As I said before, Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said firmly. “I am a modern woman. You may even be shocked to learn I am in favour of women’s rights.”

“A suffragette?” Mr Doyle uttered the word with a slight gasp of horror.

Jack was not sure what a suffragette was. He thought it might have been a type of religion – a cross between Catholic and Church of England.

“I believe women must have equal rights,” Scarlet said. “One day we will have the vote.”

Mr Doyle took the prudent action that all men of wisdom throughout the ages have followed – he chose to remain silent. “Follow me. I spy a point of possible egress.”

The warehouse was indeed large. High windows lined the tops of the walls surrounding the structure. The group walked the circumference of the warehouse until they reached a large pair of double doors with a smaller door at the front of the building. Mr Doyle immediately went to the small door. He produced a brass and copper contraption that looked vaguely like a revolver from his pocket. He started manipulating the lock.

“Mr Doyle,” Jack said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m breaking and entering,” Mr Doyle said calmly. “But it’s all for a good cause.”

“So I have become a criminal,” Scarlet said, looking absolutely thrilled at the idea. “I shall have to give a dissertation at the next Ladies Alliance meeting.”

Both Jack and Mr Doyle looked at her.

She blushed. “On second thought, I may record it in my memoirs for publication after my demise.”

They nodded.

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Mr Doyle stuck his head through the gap and listened.

“I don’t believe anyone is here,” he said. “But we had best proceed with caution.”

They closed the door behind them. Jack could hear the gentle sound of rain pattering on the metal roof high above. The interior smelled of mould and rotting timbers. A loose covering of mulch and hay covered the floor. Breathing out through his mouth, Jack formed a cloud of fog. Huge timber shelves ran down both sides of the room stacked high with boxes. The crates only ended near the ceiling where the line of windows ringed the structure. They slowly walked down the centre aisle with the boxes towering above them.

Mr Doyle finally chose a side alley through the boxes and pulled one of the smaller containers from the shelf. He produced a knife from his pocket and applied it to the end. Within a minute he had it open and leafed through the interior, pulling straw out and onto the floor.

“Nothing,” he said.

“You mean, nothing of importance?” Scarlet asked.

“No, I mean there is nothing in this box. Apart from straw.”

They all stared into the empty box.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jack said.

“Agreed,” Mr Doyle said. He went to another much larger box. “Jack, please help me to get this down.”

They pulled the box onto the floor, opened it and thoroughly searched the interior. Again the container held nothing but packing. Wordlessly, Mr Doyle repacked both the boxes, reattached the lids and stacked them back on the shelves. He stood back, stroking his chin.

Finally he said, “I’ll wager that every box in this warehouse is empty.”

“But why?” Scarlet cried. “Why fill a warehouse with empty cartons?”

“If you want to hide a book, place it on a bookshelf,” Mr Doyle replied. “I believe there is something to be found here. Probably something very unusual.”

“How will we find it?” Jack asked.

Mr Doyle did not answer immediately. Instead, he walked two circuits of the warehouse, finally crossing to one of the shelves and running a finger along the edge of it.

“Just as I thought,” he said, examining the dust on his finger. “These boxes have been here for quite some time. And there are tracks here from a steam truck, but they are quite old. Nothing has moved in or out of here for quite some time.”

“So is this a dead end?” Scarlet asked.

“Not at all,” Mr Doyle replied. “We will search until we make a relevant discovery.”

He continued to stride up and down the length of the warehouse. Finally his eyes settled on a spot in the middle of the floor. He moved over to it with sudden excitement, moved his foot around in a wide circle and finally fell to his feet. Scooping out his knife, he started to work at an indentation in the floor.

“Aha,” he said. “I think we have it.”

Jack and Scarlet crowded around him as he revealed a large ring set into the ground. Mr Doyle pulled on it and a trap door lifted, revealing a set of stairs leading down into darkness. Jack retrieved a lantern hanging on a nearby nail. They lit it and started down into the murkiness.

“I pray…” Scarlet’s voice faltered.

“Scarlet?” Jack asked.

“I pray my father is not down here,” she said.

“He is not,” Mr Doyle said. “This chamber has remained undisturbed for some time.”

The lantern dimly illuminated the interior, revealing a large empty room with a damp floor and moss growing over most of the walls. Supporting beams held up the roof. They were below the river level and Jack felt his heart beat a little faster as he thought about the river moving past them only a few feet beyond the stone walls.

A rectangular object lay in the centre of the room, measuring about eight feet by three and standing about four feet high. A huge sheet lay draped over it. Mr Doyle looked at his companions before he slowly walked over to the shape and grasped hold of the sheet.

He pulled back the covering.

Scarlet screamed.

Chapter Eight

Jack had only ever seen two dead bodies in his life – those of his parents, although his memory of them swam with confusion. It was like one of those shows at the magic lantern theatre – unclear and disjointed. Jack could only ever remember separate images from that terrible day. Never the entire incident.

Blackness swam around him like a fog. He saw his father swinging from one trapeze to meet his mother in the middle. She hung upside down. Her arms outstretched. His hands met hers. Jack stood on the sawdust ring below.

The crossbar supporting his father snapped.

Jack cried out. Never had this happened in over a thousand performances. But as they tumbled towards the net, in the long seconds as they fell, Jack remembered relaxing as he knew they would simply land in the safety net.

He would never forget them hitting the net at the same instant, hand in hand, as if somehow they knew this signalled the end.

Because in the next instant, against all reason, the net snapped.

“She is perfectly preserved,” Mr Doyle broke his reverie.

They grouped around the stone sarcophagus and looked through the glass top. The lamplight illuminated a woman inside. Wearing a long black dress, her face looked as if carved from ivory. Her gleaming white hands lay across her body, resting gently upon her stomach. Long black hair cascaded across the silk pillow supporting her head. She looked like she was about to suddenly draw breath.

After his initial shock, Jack found himself staring at the woman. She was really very pretty. For a dead lady.

“I wonder who she is,” Scarlet said.

“Oh, I know who she is,” Mr Doyle said. “She is Lisa Gherardini.”

“What?” Jack asked. “Is she a murder victim or a missing person or –.”

“Merely the model for the most famous painting on Earth. You may have heard of it – the Mona Lisa.”

“But who –?” Jack stopped.

Mr Doyle held up his hand. “As to who is responsible for leaving her body here, I can only speculate at this time. As to when –.” He stood back to examine the sarcophagus. “The stonework for her tomb matches that of one of the early Roman Popes.” Mr Doyle stood back. “Yes. It is the same carving. Very ancient. Constructed centuries before her death. Her body was obviously preserved through a process unknown even today. Judging by the mould around the base of the sarcophagus, I would venture to say she has been here for centuries.

“Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said slowly. “You’re saying this is the Mona Lisa.”

“Yes. The model da Vinci used for the painting – Lisa Gherardini.”

“But what is she doing here?” Jack asked.

“Very little,” Mr Doyle replied. “She is, after all, dead.”

Jack and Scarlet looked at him in silence for a moment.

“Just a little joke.” He continued. “It would be pure speculation at this time, however there is an interesting connection we cannot ignore.” He paused. “Today we have seen both an unknown painting by Master Leonardo da Vinci and now we have found the famous model for another of his works. The link in the chain is obviously Leonardo. But why? And who is behind this would only be guesswork at this time.”

“And my father?” Scarlet asked.

“We are no closer, my dear,” Mr Doyle said. “I am sorry.”

He swept the sheet over the stone sarcophagus and they silently filed up the stairs and into the warehouse above. The warehouse interior echoing with the sound of falling rain was a welcome relief for Jack. It was unnerving being with the body of the woman downstairs. Possibly if she had been reduced to a skeleton he may not have felt so spooked, but the woman had looked ready to awake at any second.

Mr Doyle replaced the door into its position on the floor and smoothed over the muck and hay. He returned the lantern to its position on the wall.

He held up a finger. “Wait. I hear something.”

They all heard it now – the sound of an approaching steam car.

“Quickly!” Mr Doyle ordered.

They raced to the rear of the warehouse. Not a moment too soon. The huge double doors were unlocked and a steam vehicle backed into the open area as rain continued to pour steadily outside. Two men climbed from the truck. A third, speaking a foreign language, gave some orders. The other two lifted a tarpaulin from the back of the vehicle. They climbed in and lifted two large boxes from the rear.

“They look like –.” Jack began.

Mr Doyle clasped a hand over his mouth. If the men heard him, they gave no indication.

Jack looked in some horror at the two boxes lying side by side on the ground. Despite being constructed from timber, in physical dimensions they were not unlike the sarcophagus in the secret chamber below.

The leader of the group appeared agitated. He yelled something at his companions in his foreign tongue and his cohorts immediately hurried back into the truck. They closed the doors. A moment later Jack and the others heard the sound of the vehicle as it chugged away. The rain started to fall more heavily.

Jack and the others slowly left their hiding place and edged over to the boxes.

“Mr Doyle,” Scarlet began. “You don’t think –.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Once again he produced his trusty blade and started to work at the top edge of one of the boxes. In a moment he had it loosened. “Help me to ease this up, Jack.”

They gently raised the lid. Scarlet stifled a cry of horror. A man lay within a solid block of ice in the box. He looked well dressed, clean shaven and very dead.

“Who is he?” Jack asked.

“I can answer that,” Mr Doyle said. “But I would first like to test a theory. Please help me with the other box.”

A minute later they had the lid off the second box. Inside another dead man lay encased in ice. Mr Doyle lit a lantern and held it over the ice tombs to inspect both bodies.

“Who are they?” Jack asked.

“Two very famous men, one whose face is known to the general public. The other is unknown. May I introduce you to Douglas Milverton, the creator of Milverton’s Bacteria, one of the most astounding creations of our age. The other gentleman is James Partington. You may recall –.”

“The amazing submersible,” Scarlet exclaimed.

“The amazing…what?” Jack asked.

“A submersible,” Mr Doyle explained. “A vessel constructed to go under the water. In the last year a number of these have been commissioned by the Department of Defence. The war office believes these may have made a real difference in the war if they had been developed earlier.”

Once again a cloud seemed to pass over Mr Doyle’s face. He shook his head as if to clear it.

“Both these men went missing in the last year. We have obviously discovered what happened to them. The question is – why?”

“Who were those men who delivered the bodies?” Scarlet asked. “And are they responsible for the disappearance of my father?”

“We can only speculate,” Mr Doyle said. “However –.”

Jack happened to look past Mr Doyle at that moment. Beyond his mentor lay the door through which they had entered. A face filled the glass panel set into the door – the man who had been snapping orders at his companions. He held a gun at the ready, his face filled with fury.

“Watch out!” Jack yelled.

He threw himself at Mr Doyle – not a moment too soon. A gunshot rang out, blowing out the glass. Jack knocked the detective to the ground.

Scarlet pulled out her gun and fired a single shot at the door. The bullet hit the door frame.

“Run!” Mr Doyle cried.

They raced towards the rear of the warehouse. More shots whizzed past them as they took refuge behind a stack of crates. Jack glanced around the corner and saw the lantern had tipped over in the confusion and a smouldering fire had begun in the hay. The flames raced rapidly across to the nearby shelves.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Scarlet said.

Jack peered behind them. The only exit to the warehouse lay before them. There was no other way out. He peered back towards the front and a bullet slammed into a box near his head. Jack cried out as splintered wood struck his face.

“My boy –,” Mr Doyle started.

“I’m alright,” Jack said.

Mr Doyle leaned around the corner and fired off a few quick shots. He looked around and then towards the ceiling.

“The only way out of here is up,” Mr Doyle said. “You two go first.”

Scarlet lifted her skirt and started up the shelving. A moment later Jack followed. The older girl impressed him. There had been some rough and tumble girls at the orphanage, but none had the pluck that Scarlet seemed to carry with her in abundance.

When they reached the top, Scarlet lay flat and fired her weapon at the gunmen, allowing Mr Doyle to climb after them. Jack eased open one of the nearby windows and peered down. The Lion’s Mane was parked just next to the building.

“With a bit of luck we should be able to jump onto the balloon and slide down the side,” Mr Doyle said.

Jack looked down the side of the building again.

Bleeding Hell, he thought. That’s going to take more than a bit of luck.

He did not voice his opinion.

“We need to create a diversion,” Mr Doyle said. “Jack, lend me a hand. Scarlet, continue firing if you will.”

Scarlet continued to fire intermittently at the men at the far end of the building. Each time they tried to manoeuvre the centre aisle, she fired a pot shot at them. Smoke and fire continued to spread and their assailants yelled to each other in their foreign tongue as they tried to draw closer.

“The boxes are not too heavy,” Mr Doyle said. “But this will require our combined strength if it is to work.”

The detective sat on the edge of the top of the boxes and braced his feet against the line of boxes on the shelf in front of them. Jack did the same.

“We’ll push on the count of three,” Mr Doyle said. “One, two…three!”

They applied all their strength to the towering shelf. At first Jack thought nothing was happening, and then he realised the shelf was beginning to tip forward.

“Release!” Mr Doyle said.

They pulled their legs back and the stack rocked back towards them.

“And again!” Mr Doyle cried.

They pushed the shelf and this time it seemed to hover, balanced as if on a knife edge. Then in the next instant it fell away from them, slamming into the next shelf.

“Quickly!” Mr Doyle yelled. “Out the window!”

Jack shoved the window open wide. A small ledge ran around the outside of the building. Just before Jack climbed out onto it, he glanced back inside the warehouse. The shelves were falling away from them like a row of dominoes. He heard screaming and crashing as boxes toppled into their assailants.

He leapt from the window, throwing his arms out in front of him and landed face first against the airship’s balloon. Using the friction of the surface, he slowly slid down the side until he slipped off and landed on his feet. He saw Scarlet follow his lead. She leapt across to the balloon and slid down the side – too quickly. Scarlet suddenly became airborne and landed on him.

“Oomph!” Jack gasped.

The girl rolled over. “Oh, Mr Mason. I apologise most sincerely.”

“That’s quite alright, Scarlet,” Jack said. He had momentarily seen the underneath of Scarlet’s dress – no man’s land – and realised he was blushing furiously. “And please call me Jack.”

Mr Doyle landed next to them rather more adeptly. “Hurry you two. We’d better move before those chaps recover.”

They scuttled into the gondola of the Lion’s Mane and Mr Doyle untied them. A moment later they rose up above the buildings. Jack looked back at the warehouse. Behind them, the building burned. The rain had stopped during their time inside the building and now the fire continued unabated. A window exploded and smoke trailed up into the late afternoon sky.

The men ran away from the scene like ants deserting a nest. The steam truck made a hasty getaway from the scene. After that the fog closed in again. By the time the Lion’s Mane had climbed high above the city, the building had became a star fallen to earth, burning and radiant in the heart of the darkening landscape.

They watched until the whole scene was swallowed by deep shadow and fog. The last light of day played along the horizon like the pieces of a broken bottle. Only the London metrotower was visible rising up from the fog enshrouded city.

Scarlet let out a sob.

“My dear,” Mr Doyle set the rudder to autopilot on the Lion’s Mane. “Are you alright?”

Jack felt as if his heart were about to burst from his chest. Scarlet had been so strong during this whole ordeal. It seemed impossible that such a powerful girl was capable of so feminine a display as tears.

“No, I fear I am not.” Scarlet dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. “We have been through this ordeal and we have not moved ahead one inch.”

“On the contrary,” Mr Doyle said. “A fortunate clue has landed in our laps.”

“A clue? What clue?” Jack asked.

Mr Doyle returned to the steering panel of the airship. “The fellows back at the warehouse were speaking German.”

Jack remembered the foreign tongue of the men. “And you could understand them?”

Mr Doyle nodded. “Fortunately it is among the twelve languages of which I have a passing knowledge.”

“What did they say?” Scarlet asked, sitting forward.

“One of them was looking forward to his cheese and sauerkraut sandwich,” Mr Doyle said. “I must confess I salivated at the thought –.”

“Mr Doyle!” Jack interrupted.

“The fellow in charge told the others they had to hurry. It seems their next target is Jon Harker.”

“Jon Harker!” Jack exclaimed. “Why, he’s –.”

“The inventor of the Space Steamer,” Scarlet finished.

“And our first astronaut,” Mr Doyle said, looking up into the night sky.

Chapter Nine

As the sun set and the final light of day drained from the sky, Mr Doyle set their instruments for the London metrotower. Harker was famously known to own the entire two hundredth floor. Mr Doyle produced bedding and nightclothes. He tied a sheet across the middle of the living room so Scarlet could change into a sleeping garment and have her own room.

“I fear I only have men’s night apparel,” Mr Doyle said, looking slightly embarrassed as he handed the clothing to Scarlet.

“I should be most concerned if you kept women’s apparel in your drawers,” Scarlet raised an eyebrow.

“Quite,” Mr Doyle said. “Quite.”

The detective turned the lamp down low as Jack climbed into his bunk bed. Sleeping in such a confined space reminded him of the orphanage. Sometimes when the lights went out Charley Spratt and his cronies would roam the dorm rooms, randomly searching for one of the smaller boys to bash.

Jack shivered. He had been at the receiving end of Charley’s bashings on more than one occasion. At least he had always tried to fight back – the worst error was to curl up on the bed and do nothing.

Sometimes waiting for the attack was almost worse than the actual attack. He would hear footsteps and whispering in the hallway. Sometimes they talked for so long he was almost asleep by the time they attacked.

Jack lay in his bed and looked through the window up at the sky. Circling the globe at this very moment were space steamers, travelling between metrotowers. It was hard to visualise. Jack had heard about the wonders of space flight and even seen the occasional sketch in a newspaper, but imagining it was an entirely different thing. Entire fleets of trading vessels moved supplies from one tower to another – and that did not include the military ships patrolling the borders between the nations.

“You’ve done very well, Jack” Mr Doyle’s voice suddenly broke his reverie.

“Thanks, Mr Doyle,” Jack said. “I like it here.”

Mr Doyle laughed. “Being shot at is fun, is it?”

“Sure beats the orphanage.” A sudden thought occurred to Jack. “Do you have any children, Mr Doyle?”

In the darkness now there was only the light of the moon whispering through the curtains and the dim glow from the fore and aft lamps. At first Jack thought Mr Doyle must have slipped off to sleep, but after a time he cleared his throat.

“I had a son,” he said. “His name was Phillip. He was killed in the war.”

Jack remembered the uncomfortable silence from the detective when the war was mentioned. He cursed himself. He was an absolute idiot sometimes. Scarlet was two years older than him, yet she was so much wiser. She knew when to speak and when to remain silent.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t –.”

“That’s alright, Jack,” Mr Doyle said. “I also have a grandson, although I have not seen him for some time.”

“Why is that? Does he live a great distance away?”

“No. Just on the other side of London.” Mr Doyle paused. “His name is James. His mother’s name is Amelia. When the war began, my son, Phillip signed up. So did I.”

For a moment the only sound was the drone of the steam engines.

“Phillip believed what they told him about king and country, but I had no such illusions. I knew there would be bloodshed. I had fought in the Boer conflict, and had heard the lies that politicians tell and I already knew the tragedy that war brings.

“The pacts drawn up prior to the Great War were built on a house of cards. Great Britain was allied with France and Germany with Austria and every country held similar alliances with other nations. Many naively believed there would be a clearing of the deck.

“Not I. My only interest was in protecting my son and with my previous military service I was able to enrol as an officer. Phillip was in my regiment. We were sent over to France to fight.”

Mr Doyle’s voice had become so ghostly in the darkness that Jack could not resist the urge to break his dialogue. “What was it like?”

His mentor gave a bitter laugh. “A bloodbath. Pure and simple. Phillip and I were stationed in the Somme, buried in mud and filth and blood. It was an impossible situation. Men were dying all around us, but we both knew we were expected to do our duty.

“One morning we were ordered to charge a German emplacement. I led the regiment across the muddy field. I thought we would both die. That would have been a tragedy, but at least we would be together. Mortar fire started all around us as we charged across that terrible field.

“I suddenly tripped. I tried to stand, but I found myself caught in barbed wire. It was all over the place. Impossible to avoid. The more I struggled to free myself from it, the more I became entrapped. I could see Phillip running ahead with the other men in the early morning gloom.

“In desperation, I screamed for him to slow down. I continued to struggle with the barbed wire until I finally tore free. Racing after him, I was only about twenty feet behind when the mortar attack hit him and his companions.

“The explosion threw me backwards. I lay there unconscious for God knows how long. It could have been minutes. Or hours. Finally I woke up and crawled over to where Phillip had been.”

The airship carved a path across the sky. Jack felt tears on his face as he watched the stars rotate out of view.

I should not have intruded on Mr Doyle’s privacy, Jack thought, his stomach turning over. He has already suffered enough without me making things worse.

“There was nothing left of him,” Mr Doyle said. “I found pieces of clothing. His dog tags. Nothing else. His friends had also been killed. Sometimes people have asked me what it was like, the war, I mean and I simply tell them it reduced men to nothing. That’s what the war did for Phillip. It reduced a brave, strong young man to nothing.

“One minute he existed. The next, he ceased to exist.

“His mother was already dead, thank God. But when I returned to England Phillip’s wife, Amelia, was embittered towards me because of his death.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jack said.

“I know,” Mr Doyle said. “It was the war. I still carry Phillip’s dog tags around my neck. They remind me of that barbed wire. If only I had not been caught on that wire…”

“You would have probably been killed too, sir.”

“Probably.” The silence ticked on. “War is a great injustice, my boy.”

“I know, Mr Doyle.”

“Injustice must be fought.”

“Yes, sir.”

The night moved across them and before sleep claimed them, Jack looked up into the sky and watched the stars. Sometimes he saw them linked by barbed wire and before he slept he imagined himself caught on them, legs caught on blazing embers, stuck fast in the night.

Chapter Ten

Jack awoke to the sound of frying bacon.

He opened bleary eyes to see Mr Doyle moving bacon around in a pan and cracking eggs.

“Wake up, my boy.” He said, smiling. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

Jack threw clothes on. A moment later he heard Scarlet call from beyond the curtain.

“Is everyone decent out there?”

“We are, Miss Scarlet,” Mr Doyle said. “Please enter.”

Scarlet Bell removed the screen and appeared looking remarkably refreshed.

“I’m afraid I am wearing the same attire,” she said.

“As are we,” Mr Doyle said. “But at least none of us carry malodorous odours.” He placed bacon and eggs onto a plate. “With the exception of Jack.”

“Mr Doyle!” Jack cried, but Scarlet laughed.

They ate breakfast around a small fold out table, chatting about the events of the previous day. Jack was reminded of his own family and how many times they had eaten together. Their time at the circus had been hard – circus life always was – but breakfast was usually the one time of the day when they could relax together and talk. After breakfast they would normally help the other men prepare the tents for the day or practice their routines.

Mr Doyle made no comment about their conversation of the previous evening and Jack wisely did not raise the subject.

“Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said. “What do you think Jon Harker’s involvement is in this matter?”

“It is impossible at this point to say,” Mr Doyle replied. “Although if we extrapolate the course of events from yesterday, it is fair to say his life may be in danger.”

“When will we arrive at the metrotower?” Jack asked.

“Within the hour,” Mr Doyle replied. “As a matter of fact, we are now drawing quite close.”

They finished their meal and grouped around the viewing window. The metrotower already filled most of the screen. Airships of all shapes and sizes were arriving and departing from decks all up and down the structure. Jack had read everything he could about the metrotower. A book at the orphanage had been filled with pictures taken from the first ground breaking ceremony to its completion. Measuring some twenty miles across at the base, the structure narrowed as it rose all the way into space, eventually measuring only a mile across at the top.

“I’ve heard it said the London metrotower still remains the largest of all,” Scarlet said.

“I wish that were true,” Mr Doyle said. “As a matter of fact, ours has slipped quite some way down the list.”

Scarlet looked shocked. “Really?”

“Yes, unfortunately. The American tower is larger, and the Chinese and even the German tower is larger now that the war is over and their renovations complete.”

“General Churchill says that the next war will be fought in space,” Scarlet said, frowning. “Does that mean we are already on the back foot?”

A shadow crossed Mr Doyle’s face. “General Churchill is too zealous for battle. I would have thought he and others would have learnt since the Great War.”

Jack decided to remain silent. He looked straight from the window without letting his gaze stray to Mr Doyle’s face.

“Our Prime Minister, Mr Kitchener, is rather more even minded,” Mr Doyle admitted. “However, I must agree that airships made all the difference in the Great War. I imagine dominance over space will decide the next.” He turned away from the window. “Jack, would you be so kind as to wash the dishes? I will prepare our docking procedure.”

Jack quickly cleaned the kitchen utensils as Mr Doyle focused on bringing the Lion’s Mane in to land. It seemed for some time they would never arrive. The side of the metrotower appeared as chequerboard from a distance, almost like looking at hundreds of fields laid upright. As they drew closer they realised each level was determined by alternating levels of brown and white brickwork. Along each level hundreds of windows looked outwards at the view beyond.

Above them they saw clouds enclosing the upper levels. Through gaps in the haze the metrotower continued upwards and out of sight.

“The figures are staggering,” Mr Doyle recounted. “Tens of millions of individual bricks used in its construction. Millions of panes of glass. Over a million people live in the structure. Thousands of offices. Hundreds of new towns occupy levels at various intervals.”

“How are we going to find Mr Harker?” Jack asked. It all sounded so enormous he wondered how anyone found anyone else.

“Thankfully we know his address,” Mr Doyle said, smiling. “Otherwise we would never find him. It has been said a person could start at the ground floor and search every room and die of old age before they reached the top.” He adjusted the helm. “At the centre of the structure are over a hundred lifts. They operate at all times of the day and night.”

“Where does the power come from?” Scarlet asked.

“The metrotower’s steam mills are located a mile away from the base. They provide the power for the building. Airships deliver food and water, although much of it is provided by the tower itself.”

“In what way?” Scarlet asked.

“Water is collected from the storms and showers that regularly drench the exterior of the structure. Food is grown on several levels, making full use of the light entering the windows.”

“It makes one wonder why anyone would ever leave,” Scarlet said.

“Some people don’t,” Mr Doyle said. “There are a number of people who have been born on the tower and have never departed.”

Jack tried to imagine what it would be like if he had to live inside a building for his entire life. It sounded like jail. “That sounds terrible.”

Mr Doyle shot a smile at him. “Not everyone shares your love of adventure, Jack.” He looked back out the window. “Here we are, almost ready to land.”

The Lion’s Mane edged closer to the structure. A number of larger vessels were before them, but as it turned out they were being directed to other moorings. Mr Doyle directed them towards a line of smaller airships. Each vessel came into land at a dock that jutted out from the side like a huge tongue. As they pulled in to land, a door slid across, keeping out the cold. After they dropped off their passengers, they departed almost immediately.

“Some are returning to their place of origin,” Mr Doyle said. “Others, especially those owned by aristocrats, have their own docking bays further down the building.”

“I do not believe in class structure,” Scarlet said, tightening her fist. “One day I hope there will be no such distinction.”

Mr Doyle gave her a look of mock astonishment. “Ah, a suffragette and a follower of Mr Marx.”

“I do not follow the teachings of Mr Marx,” Scarlet said. “I merely believe as the Americans do, that all are created equal.”

“I agree,” Mr Doyle said. “We are created equal. A shame we do not live as such. Ah, here we are. Time to dock.”

The previous vessel had just docked and flown away. Mr Doyle brought them into land. A man in what appeared to be a lightweight diving outfit stood outside, signalling them to remain stationary until the outer doors had closed.

As the doors slid shut, he held up a sign. It read:

One minute till interior heating completed

They waited. Finally he gave them a thumbs–up symbol and they slowly climbed out. The interior of the docking bay was freezing, despite the warm air being pumped in. Jack found his legs felt like jelly. Scarlet stumbled against him and his heart rose up into his throat as she clasped his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Scarlet said, looking embarrassed. “I have jelly legs.”

“Me too.”

He felt rather sorry when she released him.

“It’s like being on a ship for long periods,” Mr Doyle explained, handling the solid ground rather better. “We’re already used to the sway of the Lion’s Mane.”

The dockman put up the visor on his round helmet. “Do you have a private mooring here, sir?”

“I have a place put aside for me on the King’s level.”

The dockman checked his roster. “There is a place. Mr Doyle, is it?”

“That’s right.”

“We’ll look after your vessel,” he said. “It will be on level one twenty–four when you need it.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“Just follow the corridor through to the internal hub,” the man said. “The way is signposted from there.”

They went down a corridor, passed through two acclimatisation doors and found themselves in a room not unlike the concourse of a railway station. Men and women came and went in all directions. Luggage porters shifted bags from one place to another.

“There’s the Duchess of Derbyshire,” Scarlet said. “And the Baroness of Essex.”

“I thought you were not impressed by class distinction,” Mr Doyle said, raising an eyebrow.

“I simply like the fashion,” she said.

They exited the terminal into a corridor leading to a market. Apart from the enclosed walls and ceiling above, the market could have been anywhere in London. The floors were lined with cobblestones. Steam cars ran slowly along the streets. Even a horse drawn buggy carried sightseers through the heart of the market. Terraced structures ringed the outside of the market, stretching from ceiling to floor.

“It’s amazing,” Jack said, peering upwards. Even the ceiling had been painted blue with a mural of billowing clouds. “It’s easy to forget you’re inside a building.”

“You can see why some people spend their entire lives within the tower,” Mr Doyle said. “For some people, this is their whole world.”

They followed signage down a street and walked a number of blocks until they reached a series of circular structures that ran from the floor up into the roof. Mr Doyle explained these were the lifts. There were many to pick from and lines had already formed at the entrance to many of them.

“First class, second class and passenger carriages,” Mr Doyle pointed. “And then we have express lifts and all stations.”

They’re like trains, Jack thought. Except they move up and down.

Mr Doyle directed them towards the first class sections. He showed his card as they passed through a barrier.

“Mr Harker is expecting us,” Mr Doyle told the ticket inspector.

“Of course, sir” the man said. “Please follow me.”

The inspector led them to a rather palatial looking lift at the rear of the first class section. The doors opened to reveal a well dressed lift attendant and an interior clad in mahogany. Gold leaf trimmings decorated the ceiling. Mirrors lined the three walls.

“Bazookas,” Jack said. “This room probably cost more than some houses in London.”

“No doubt,” Mr Doyle said. “The Harker residence, please.”

The lift attendant hit a button and a moment later the elevator started to ascend. Jack had never been inside a lift. He tried to imagine the mechanics involved in raising the contraption through the building, cogs and gears and shafts pushing and pulling to make the thing rise, all the while being driven by steam power. His mind whirled.

“Why did we not take a lift from the ground?” Scarlet asked.

The lift attendant answered her. “It is possible to do so, but it would take too long, madam.”

“I believe you have to change lifts a number of times to reach the top,” Mr Doyle remarked.

“Very true, sir,” the man said. “In fact, if you were to travel by lift all the way from the ground to geocentric orbit, you would change lifts sixteen times. To build a single lift to take you that distance would have been impractical.”

“Power was the problem?” Scarlet asked.

“Not at all. There would have been too much friction along the curvature.”

“Friction along the curvature?” Scarlet asked.

“I’m sorry, madam,” the man said. “I’m not sure a lady would understand.”

Jack stifled a smile as he watched Scarlet purse her lips.

“Perhaps you could try,” she said.

“The metrotower is built to withstand tremendous forces,” the man explained, oblivious to Scarlet’s anger. “The entire structure is constantly swaying to cater for the velocity of the wind. If it were rigidly built, it would eventually shatter and collapse.”

“The Chinese have a saying for that,” Scarlet said. “The strongest branch is the one that bends in the wind.”

The lift came to a halt. The lift attendant announced, “The Harker residence.”

Mr Doyle gave him a tip and they exited into a reception area. Two security men stood at either side of a nearby door. A single woman sat at a desk with a typewriter before her.

A model of one of the space steamers filled the centre of the room. Jack could not stop himself. He raced over to the side of the enormous piece.

“It’s the Victory!” he said excitedly.

Jack had read a lot about the Victory. The enormous steamer was the pride of the British space navy. The largest steam ship ever constructed, it housed over seven hundred men. It was said its boilers alone were larger than St Paul’s cathedral. Three decks of cannons lined both sides of the enormous behemoth.

Even the Prime Minister called it ‘Death Afloat’.

The secretary looked up from her desk. “Can I help you?”

“We need to see Mr Harker,” Mr Doyle said.

The girl frowned. “Do you have an appointment?”

“There was no time to make an appointment,” Mr Doyle said. “It’s a matter of grave concern.”

“Mr Harker is quite busy at the moment,” the girl said. She leafed through an appointment book. “He might be able to fit you in some time in July.”

Scarlet snapped. “That’s three months away. This is a matter of life and death.”

The two security guards approached the desk from their position at the door.

“What’s this all about?” one of them said. “We can’t have any threats made here.”

“I’m not making a threat,” Scarlet said, pursing her lips. “But we have reason to believe Mr Harker’s life may be at risk.”

“Have you been to the police?” the same guard asked.

“We have not,” Mr Doyle said. He reached into his coat and took out a card. “Please give my card to Mr Harker. It’s very important.”

At that moment the door opened behind the guards. An attractive woman stepped through; aged about thirty–five, she had short, black hair and piercing grey eyes. She walked around the desk and took the card from Mr Doyle’s hand.

“Ignatius Doyle,” she said, reading the card. “Consulting detective. I appreciate your efforts, but any information must be forwarded through to the police.”

Jack had listened to enough twaddle. “Mr Doyle is better than the police. You should listen to him.”

“Better than the police?” the woman raised an eyebrow, an amused smile dancing across her lips. “I find that hard to believe.”

“My dear,” Mr Doyle said. “You should keep an open mind. You are, after all, well travelled, having been to Europe in the last few months.”

The woman’s jaw dropped. “But how…how did you…”

“You grew up in a poor household. You were raised by your father. He tried to teach you the finer details of being a lady, but you rebelled. You sewed for a number of years, but you did poorly at it and hated it. You also danced as a child. You did better as a dancer, but you enjoyed the sciences, specifically chemistry, more than the social graces of society.”

By now the woman was completely speechless.

“Having said all that, your real love is music – the violin specifically. You are a lady of leisure – your father having done very well in life – but you have high aspirations.”

Mr Doyle stroked his chin. “And one last thing. You were in love many years ago, but the gentleman died. I’m sorry, my dear.”

For one brief moment an expression of fury flashed across the woman’s face. She swallowed hard as she suppressed the emotion.

Mr Doyle took a step closer to the woman. “My dear, will you let us speak to Mr Harker? I promise you this is a matter of extreme importance – his very life may depend on it.”

The woman looked down at the card. She glanced back at the guards. “Follow me.”

She crossed to the door and opened it. They followed her as they walked up a long passage that eventually met the outer edge of the building. Jack looked out the window at the view. He instantly felt dizzy. He had lived on the trapeze for most of his life, yet he had never seen anything like this. Neither had the others. Even Scarlet and Mr Doyle seemed transfixed by the sight of the miles and miles of countryside receding into the distance. They could see the coastline where it met the channel.

“On a clear day you can see deep into the continent,” the woman said.

They entered a large living area with walls of books lining the sides. Freestanding shelves filled the interior of the floor. A curving staircase led up to a mezzanine level. At the moment a man stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at them with a scowl.

“You must explain yourself, sir,” he said sternly as he started down the stairs towards them.

Jack realised the man was Jon Harker. He looked to be about sixty years old. A slim man with receding white hair, parted on one side, he wore a black suit and tie. He had a neat moustache and a white beard that came to a point. Jack had only seen a few pictures of the famous astronaut and the man had obviously aged since the photos were taken.

“I am Ignatius Doyle,” Mr Doyle said. “A consulting detective.”

“I am well aware as to your identity,” Jon Harker said. “The moment you announced yourself at the front desk, a team of researchers were notified and started combing our files for information. I know that Scotland Yard thinks most highly of you.”

“I have assisted Scotland Yard on one or two occasions,” Mr Doyle admitted.

Mr Harker reached the bottom of the stairs and shook Mr Doyle’s hand. “You must explain to me how you knew so much about this young woman.”

“It was elementary,” Mr Doyle said. “This young lady has not long returned from Europe. Her dress was not made in Britain. Her skin carries a healthy pallor. We have just completed winter, so it seems obvious she has travelled to Europe. The dress is quite new, so I deduce she acquired it on her travels abroad.”

“And all the other details?” the woman asked. “The sewing…the music…”

“Simplicity itself,” he said. “You have a number of scars on your fingers, specifically the forefinger of your left hand where you injured yourself with the needle. There must not have been a woman around, so you learnt to sew with only the advice of your father. The fact that there are so many marks means you worked for some time at it – without much success.”

“When you came around the desk to take my card, you placed your left foot against the inside ankle of your right – a classic ballet step. You still do it naturally, so I assume you worked at it and enjoyed it more than sewing.

“Your love of the violin is obvious. As obvious as the red mark under your chin from your many hours of practice.”

“But the science?” the woman asked. “How could you possibly know about that?”

“Simply a matter of deduction, my dear. On the inside edge of both your left and right fingers is a callous, brought about by the use of a microscope. You also have tiny white burn marks on the palms of your hands. I assume, from the misuse of chemicals.”

“And finally -,” the woman’s voice became as hard as stone.

“It is not important,” Mr Doyle said.

“It seems you know a great deal about my daughter,” Mr Harker said. “May I introduce you to Lucy.”

Lucy Harker inclined her head. “I’m pleased to meet you. I think.”

“But I understand you also know something about me,” Jon Harker said.

“Mr Harker,” Mr Doyle began. “We have been investigating a case in relation to the disappearance of Miss Bell’s father – Joseph Bell. Have you ever heard the name?”

“Lucy,” Mr Harker said. “Will you please make tea?”

“Of course, father,” Lucy replied, leaving the room.

“No,” Jon Harker led them to a lounge area. “I am unfamiliar with the name.”

“You have of course heard of Douglas Milverton and James Partington?”

“Of course. They are two of the greatest inventors of our generation.”

“Both these men went missing during the course of the last year,” Mr Doyle explained. “We discovered their bodies last night.”

“They were frozen in ice,” Jack broke in. “Snap frozen.”

“Frozen?” Mr Harker was taken aback.

“The men in possession of their bodies spoke German,” Mr Doyle said. “Are you or your daughter familiar with the language?”

“Not particularly.”

“The men mentioned your name specifically,” Mr Doyle said. “They said they were on their way to get you.”

Mr Harker frowned in thought. “This is all very strange. Having said that, the disappearance of Milverton and Partington was unusual too. What do you suggest?”

“Until this mystery is solved, I believe you need to increase your level of security. You must not go anywhere without protection and I would advise you to do the same for your daughter.”

Mr Harker stroked his chin in thought. Finally he seemed to reach a decision. “I did not become wealthy by being foolhardy. Likewise, I did not venture into the reaches of space without taking precautions. I will follow your recommendations, especially if you believe that my daughter may also be at risk.”

At that moment, Lucy walked in with a tray carrying a tea pot and cups. “Don’t tell me this conspiracy involves me?”

“We need to be careful –,” Mr Doyle began.

He got no further. At that moment, Lucy looked past them, her eyes opened in horror and she dropped the tray, shattering tea pot and cups.

Chapter Eleven

A great shadow passed over the bank of windows. Jack turned just in time to see a bronze shape the size of a house coming towards them. In the next second the thing slammed into the side of the metrotower, shattering the enormous windows and sending books and furniture flying in all directions.

Bazookas, Jack thought, throwing himself to the ground.

A freezing cold wind filled the room. The balloon of the airship lay outside the building, but the end of its enormous gondola – a sword shaped cradle – had pierced the side of the building.

A ramp fell open from the front and men started pouring out into the room. The freezing, howling wind made it impossible to hear them, but they quickly moved among the inhabitants.

“What the hell is going on?” Jon Harker demanded of the nearest invader.

The man clubbed him to the ground.

“Father!” Lucy cried.

Jack raised his head. He looked upon the scene in absolute shock, sudden fear freezing him to inaction. Scarlet produced her gun, but one of the men wrestled it from her grasp and delivered a punch to her jaw. She sagged. Mr Doyle leapt to his feet and tackled the assailant. As he struggled with the man, another of his companions came up behind the detective and hit him across the back of the head. He dragged Mr Doyle away and lifted Scarlet from the ground.

All this time Lucy had been holding her father in her arms. Now another man slammed her across the face, sending her sprawling. Jack struggled to stand. It seemed to take him an eternity. Finally he found himself standing on shaking legs. He felt completely powerless. This was not simply the sort of assault Big Charley would impose. These men seemed capable of any sort of violence – even murder.

Another man lifted Mr Harker from the ground. In one smooth action Scarlet and Mr Harker were carried into the gondola of the airship. One man, a small black haired man with a postage stamp moustache, stood in the entrance and looked back into the room. He watched as Mr Doyle struggled to his feet. The man gave a small nod of satisfaction before he and his men marched back into the gondola.

The ramp slid up into place.

Jack stood frozen to the spot. He felt like he was in a dream. The roar of the wind was terrible. The cold was mind numbing. It was almost impossible to breathe in the exposed air of the room. At the same time he noticed a vase on the edge of a sideboard. The furniture supporting it had been damaged in the collision, but the vase hovered perilously on the edge. He watched as the vase fell, almost as if in slow motion, to the floor.

It shattered into a thousand pieces.

Jack awoke from his stupor.

The gondola was moving. It was withdrawing from the building – with Scarlet and Jon Harker inside!

No! Jack thought. I’ve got to do something.

Jack ran. He had to stop the airship. He had to save Scarlet and Mr Harker. He had fallen into some short of shocked stupor at the sudden turn of events, but now he knew what he had to do. The gondola pulled away from the building, the distance increasing with every second. Three feet. Four feet. Five feet.

Jack put all his strength into the run as he leapt across the gap from the building to the gondola.

“No!” Mr Doyle cried.

A chain ran across the bottom of the ramp. Jack’s hands slammed against the flat metal above the chain. For one brief instant he bounced away from the upraised ramp. Then one of his hands slapped back down again and connected with the chain. It tightened. The other hand gripped it. He hung suspended on the outside of the ship – miles above the earth.

He looked back to see the shattered metrotower moving away from them – but that was an optical illusion. They were moving away from it. He saw the great detective struggle to his feet. The man looked around desperately. Jack saw him dive into a pile of broken rubble and draw something from it.

A sword.

The detective raced to the edge and flung the weapon with all his might. Jack saw it sail through the air and strike the balloon. It stuck fast. After a few seconds the effect of gravity and the movement of the airship caused it to drop down, tearing a hole in the side of the balloon.

Good old Mr Doyle, Jack thought.

Chapter Twelve

The biting cold was almost unbearable. Jack hung onto the chain. It had some slack in it, so he gradually eased his hand up under one side and wrapped it around his wrist. He did the same with his other hand. He was not sure of the purpose of the chain, but he thought it may have been used to hold the ramp in place when the ship was tethered to the ground. At the moment he did not care. All he wanted was to escape the searing cold. All he wanted was to breathe normally.

He vowed to himself he would not look down, but he could not help it.

He looked down.

The world lay beneath him like a tapestry. He was still so high above the planet it was reduced to a checkerboard of different colours and patterns. He forced himself to not look down. He glanced back at the metrotower. They were rapidly moving away from it and now he saw the ugly scar caused by the airship attack.

At the same time Jack realised they were descending. Rapidly.

I’ve got to hang on, he thought. I’ve got to hold on till we land.

He placed his face against the metal ramp of the airship. He needed air and he needed warmth. He forced himself to suck air into his lungs as deeply as he could, but something was wrong. He could not take in enough in this rarefied atmosphere. His head swam.

It occurred to Jack he was about to die. The prospect scared him, but he knew he could not have done anything else under the circumstances. Mr Doyle had been good to him – and Jack would not let him down.

He felt terribly dizzy. Forcing himself to think of Scarlet, he promised to ask her out if he ever had the chance. Certainly she was a lady, but she was different to all the other toffs. She was friendly, and kind, and…well, just so blinkin’ beautiful.

Dots appeared before his eyes.

If he were about to die, he promised himself, he would imagine Scarlet’s face at the end.

He remembered her eyes. So pretty. Blue, they were. He remembered her eyes and just before he passed out he imagined he could see her eyes multiplied again and again. Him looking into her eyes and she looking into his.

Blackness came.

He awoke to the feeling of water trickling down his face. His hands felt numb. Opening his eyes he saw a large grey shape above him. It seemed to stretch forever. He looked directly ahead and saw a curving horizon of white cloth.

How did he end up in this place? And his hands…

His hands were bright purple.

What the blinkin’–.

Jack looked down and saw a field of wheat about a hundred feet below him. His memory slowly returned. The metrotower. The airship attack. His leap. Hanging onto the side of the balloon.

The airship was coming in to land – and quite rapidly by the look of it. He could hear a hissing coming from somewhere. That’s right. Mr Doyle had pierced the side with that sword. He had to disengage himself from the gondola and hide before the occupants exited, otherwise the ramp would drop down – right on top of him.

He slowly twisted the chain so that his left hand drew free. He tried gripping the chain again, but he had lost all sensation. Instead, he wrapped his arm around the chain, distributing the weight across a broader area. Now he did the same with his right hand.

As the airship slowly descended, he felt sensation starting to return to his hands. He tried flexing his fingers. Good. They moved. Looking back down again, he saw the ground coming up fast. Too fast.

He was sure they were about to crash, until at the last moment the airship seemed to increase its forward motion and shunted horizontally across the field. It scraped along the ground.

Jack made a decision. This was where he got off.

He unwrapped his arms and let go of the chain. As he fell, he threw himself into a rolling motion. Hitting the ground hard, he let out a cry of pain, but he continued to roll just as his parents had always taught him.

He lay motionless in the field. A clear blue sky lay above him. The sun, although not hot, blazed brightly down. What he wanted to do was curl into foetal position, lay completely still and sleep for the rest of the week. But he forced Scarlet’s face into his mind and so he rolled over and climbed onto his knees. He peeked up above the brown grass.

The enormous airship filled much of the field. It had made an untidy landing. On the side he saw a jagged hole.

That’s Mr Doyle for you, he smiled. Always thinking.

A vehicle screeched to a halt on a dirt road running alongside the field. Tall trees ran around the property, partly obscuring the airship from the outside world. Jack knew immediately what the enemy was about to do. They were going to transport Scarlet and Mr Harker aboard the truck.

I have to be on that truck, he decided.

Staying low, he scampered across the field as quietly as he could. He hoped no–one was looking in his direction otherwise they might see the wheat moving. After what seemed an eternity he reached the edge of the tall grass and hurried across the dirt road.

He reached a long hedge of overgrown bushes. Taking refuge, he looked back to the airship. It seemed to be taking them a long time to do anything. The balloon was still deflating. Obviously Mr Doyle had dealt it a mortal blow. People were leaving the vessel and huddling about in a group.

Finally two people were brought out of the ship wearing black hoods over their heads and their hands tied. Scarlet and Jon Harker! Jack’s heart leapt into his throat. He had to get aboard the truck, he realised, but where could he hide?

He made his way along the untidy hedge. Reaching the rear of the vehicle, he kept close to the ground. He could see the feet of two men on the other side. The driver and a guard. The back of the truck lay open. He glanced inside. Nowhere to hide in there. Looking underneath he saw a big, self contained wedge running all the way under the vehicle.

He had never seen anything like it before, but there was obviously nowhere to hide under it.

On top, he thought. On top or nowhere at all.

He climbed onto the open back of the vehicle as quietly as possible, reached up and gripped the top edge. Slowly, he eased himself up, sliding himself onto the roof. One sound and they would be onto him. They might even shoot him.

He slid along the roof, barely breathing. He could hear the group from the airship heading in his direction. They were speaking that foreign lingo – what was it – German. A muffled cry came from the group followed by the sound of a blow. Either Scarlet or Mr Harker must have protested and received a thump for it.

They drew closer and he felt the vehicle shift and shudder as people climbed in. The driver and his companion climbed into the front while others slid into the rear. There was more talking between the driver and others who were to be left behind.

Jack wished he knew how to speak German. Then he would know what they were jabbering about.

Finally the engine started.

The sun beat down on Jack as he gripped thin grooves in the metal work running along the roof. Designed to drain rain water to the rear of the vehicle, his fingers gained a sturdy purchase as the steam engine roared into motion. The vehicle started down the track, bouncing roughly along the dirt road.

The journey was much tougher than Jack had expected. He felt like an egg being tossed about in a saucepan of boiling water. His face kept on jolting against the hard metal.

It felt so uncomfortable, for the first time he felt like letting go and sliding off the rear of the van. Anything would be better than this constant battering. Then he thought of Scarlet and Mr Harker. He was their only hope. Without him they might both die.

Up till now he had remained spread-eagled across the top of the roof. Now he allowed his arms to slide in together and he braced them under his body, laying his head on his hands. As the truck raced down the road he felt more pressure on his arms, but at least his face had more support.

That’s better, he thought. But not much.

Occasionally he looked up. At least the vehicle seemed to be avoiding towns and populated areas. It stuck to country roads. As best as Jack could tell, they were headed west.

The afternoon wore on. The strain on his arms grew worse and worse. He had barely recovered from his afternoon on the outside of the balloon. The pain in his shoulders grew unbearable as he gripped the grooves in the roof.

As the sun dropped further towards the horizon, Jack felt exhaustion setting in. He had no idea as to his location. His whole body ached with pain, starting from his fingers and working all the way back to his shoulders and back.

He couldn’t take it much longer.

Sweat dripped into his eyes as he remembered his father.

“…must practice your movement again. There is no room for error…”

Jack hung on tighter.

“…people in the crowd are paying for a spectacle…not for failure…”

Tears ran down Jack’s face. He could not hold on much longer. He took long breaths in and out. When would the vehicle end its journey? And when it did, how would he contact Mr Doyle?

The steam truck slowed. Jack allowed himself to look up. To his immense surprise he could see the ocean. The sun straddled a bank of clouds on the horizon. The vehicle was either stopping at a house on the coast, or it was meeting a boat.

Now the truck dipped suddenly and Jack felt himself almost slide forward over the front of the vehicle. He fanned himself out again and tried to hang onto the grooves along the side – but his fingers would not catch. The truck jolted and dipped suddenly to his left. Jack’s nose collided with the roof.

“Ooof,” he grunted.

The jolt of pain exploded across his face as if he had been punched in the nose. Pain and exhaustion had taken their toll. He couldn’t hang on much longer. Maybe minutes. Maybe only seconds.

He looked up again. Unconsciousness would take him at any time. His arms shook uncontrollably as trees left and right slapped at the roof of the truck. It was heading down a rough track to the ocean.

It reached the pebbles lining the seashore. Jack let out a gasp of relief. At least now the truck would stop and the kidnappers would start the next phase of their journey. Possibly he could smuggle himself onto their boat or he could throw himself at the mercy of a local farmer and get the police involved.

The truck slowed to a crawl as it trundled across the pebbles.

Jack heard the front wheels splash into the water. The vehicle paused momentarily. Jack looked up. An island lay to the north. He could not see a boat. Possibly a boat was due to arrive –.

The engine suddenly surged.

The truck drove at full speed into the water.

Chapter Thirteen

Jack was so surprised he almost let go of the roof. He stared open mouthed ahead of him as water rose up around the vehicle. The truck swayed from side to side. Allowing himself a backward glance he saw the pebbled shoreline behind him. The road he had travelled down disappeared into the hills receding away from him.

The engine changed as new sets of cogs and levers were brought into play. He felt a new surge of power from the rear of the vehicle. The truck began to cut through the waves like a boat.

A memory surfaced from the depths of his exhausted mind.

The underneath of the truck had been oddly shaped. He remembered it now. Earlier in the day he had not given it a second thought, but the undercarriage of the truck had been designed to do exactly this – travel across the water.

This vehicle could move as easily across the waves as it could the land. Jack found he could relax his body slightly. The ‘boat’ moved much more smoothly than it had across the landscape. He still had to hold onto the top of the truck, but not as tightly.

The water splashed up across the front of the vessel. The cold water and the offshore wind were almost refreshing after the day’s journey across the land. He looked up ahead of him. He had been right in his guess about the island. They were rapidly approaching it. A castle rose up high in the centre of the landmass. A thick curtain of forest enveloped the rest of the land.

He laid his face flat on the roof.

Not much longer now, he thought. Please. Not much longer.

The vessel arrived at the shore and slowed down as it reached a sandy cove. It jolted once or twice on the shore and Jack heard the shifting of cogs and gears again. After a momentary whirring of engine parts, it gripped the shoreline and started up the beach.

A large cave loomed ahead of them. Jack lifted his head slightly. All he could see was darkness.

Bazookas!

They were driving straight into it!

A moment later a large black sheet slid over the top of the truck. The weight of it almost dragged Jack off, but he hung on for dear life. Suddenly he found himself inside a large room, dimly illuminated by gas lamps. He could see the tops of shelves and drums stacked almost all the way to the ceiling as the truck drove onto a level concrete surface.

The truck drew to a halt, jolted once and the engine cut out.

Jack almost wept with relief.

He heard people climb out of the vehicle. At one point he heard the angry voice of Jon Harker followed by a thump. Their captors had a long conversation in German. After a time their footsteps headed towards an open doorway leading away from the chamber.

A confusion of footsteps and mingled voices headed away from Jack. The gas in the lamps continued to keep the interior of the chamber dimly illuminated. He rolled painfully onto his back.

Rather than travelling on top of the truck, he wished it had simply run straight over him. Every muscle in his body ached from the tension of the day’s journey. It seemed like an eternity ago that he had leapt from the side of the metrotower onto the airship.

He closed his eyes.

I’ll just rest for a minute, he decided.

Just a minute.

Just a…

Chapter Fourteen

Jack awoke in gloomy darkness.

He found himself staring up at a stone ceiling. He woke from a dream where he had been buried alive and so he hit hard at the stonework, thinking he lay within a coffin many feet under the earth. The impact of his hand against the cold surface brought him back to reality.

Of course, he remembered. The airship. The truck. The island.

He lifted his head slightly. Only about a foot lay between him and the roof, a godsend, really, because the unlikely hiding place had kept him safe. He rolled over. His body felt stiff, but the total exhaustion that had plagued him the previous day had evaporated.

A sudden panic seized him. He had slept for who knows how long and in the meantime anything could have happened to Scarlet Bell and Jon Harker. He had to find and rescue them.

Jack almost laughed out loud.

He was only a kid. How could he hope to rescue Scarlet and Mr Harker? Still, he had come this far. Not everyone could have done that. Now was not the time to doubt his abilities. All he had to do was find them and get out of here.

Wherever ‘here’ happens to be, he thought.

Listening hard, Jack realised he could not make out a single sound. Good. The occupants of this building were obviously located some distance away from here. He slid around until his legs dangled over the front of the vehicle. He stepped down onto the bonnet and then onto the floor.

He swooned and grabbed the vehicle for support. For the first time in twenty–four hours he stood on solid dry land. Taking a hesitant step he found he could walk.

His thoughts about the chamber around him were correct. It seemed to be some sort of storeroom, packed with boxes and containers. He lifted a tarpaulin and beneath lay some sort of drums. They smelled of oil. Jack made his way to the door, looked down the corridor and saw a long, thin tunnel leading away from him, lit intermittently by oil lamps.

Looking back into the room, he wished he had a weapon, but nothing looked usable. Clenching his jaw, he decided to continue without one. He had only one thing on his side – the element of surprise. The kidnappers had no idea they had been followed. He wanted to keep it that way.

He continued along the tunnel. Walking as quietly as possible, his footsteps still seemed to echo as loudly as if he were walking across a tin roof. The tunnel seemed to go on forever. He wondered where it led. Probably the castle he had spotted from the water.

Finally he reached a wooden doorway, set into the stonework. If the door were locked from the other side, then he would have to give up, but if it were unlocked…

He gripped the ancient handle and turned it. Nothing happened. Then it gave a rusty squeak and he found he could pull the door towards him. He looked out into another stone corridor.

Empty.

He entered. A steep, winding staircase lay at the far end of the room.

As Jack climbed the stairs he listened for sounds from within the building. Distantly, he thought he heard the sound of voices, but the sound was so muffled it was impossible to tell. The ascent seemed to take forever. Finally he reached the top. The stairs met another corridor.

Jack peered in both directions. Nothing moved in the corridor, but now natural light penetrated a number of windows. He had finally reached ground level. The building looked very old. Probably medieval. The structure was clean, dry and cold. He had been in a few other similar buildings with his parents over the years.

He tiptoed to his left. Windows looked out onto an open courtyard. Two men walked purposefully across from one side to the other. Jack’s heart raced with fear. He hurried along the corridor until he reached another intersection. Voices echoed down the passageway towards him.

He slowly made his way down the corridor until he reached a closed door. The voices seemed to be emanating from the interior. He placed his head against the door and listened hard. They seemed to be speaking German. He backed away. Making his way down another passage, he met up with the kitchen. A table covered with a tablecloth sat in the centre of the room. A preparation bench ran along the side. An open door at the other side led out to a grassy area.

A pot was boiling on the stove.

Someone was cooking, Jack realised. They might be back at any –.

Footsteps emanated from the corridor behind him. He made for the exit door, but caught sight of someone heading up the path at the same time. He was trapped!

Jack made for the only hiding place in the room – the table. He climbed under just as someone bounded down the stairs. A woman wearing a long skirt. A moment later a man entered from the garden. They spoke in German for a moment before one of the chairs was suddenly pulled out from under the table.

Jack’s heart almost stopped. He pulled back under the table as the man sat down. Holding his breath, Jack dared not move as the man continued to speak to the woman. She dished out some food onto a plate and it clanked as she laid it onto the table.

The man said something, laughing. Suddenly the woman was dragged close to him and she sat, squirming on his lap.

Jack rolled his eyes.

Bazookas!

A cat sauntered into the room. Jack looked in horror at the creature as it slowly strolled across the room. Its eyes fixed on Jack and strolled directly towards him.

Go away, he urged, glaring at the creature. It ignored him completely, taking up residence in the tiny gap under the table. Jack tried to push it away. He waved his hands at it.

Suddenly the man’s foot moved forward and connected with Jack’s leg. Jack bit back a scream as the man pushed the woman off his lap, dragged the chair back and stood up.

“Vas ist das?” the man said.

Thinking quickly, Jack grabbed the cat and flung it out from under the table.

The man laughed, picking it up. He and the woman spoke for another moment until footsteps sounded on the landing. Another man arrived.

“They have finally spoken,” he said. The man spoke with a broad American accent. “The man, Bell, revealed the location when his daughter was threatened.”

The other man replied in German.

“English, please,” the other man said.

“My apologies,” the German said. His voice broad and loud. “Are they still upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“I will contact headquarters and find out what we will do with them.”

“Surely we will just dispose of them?”

“Most likely,” the man said. “But I will check. If we kill them prematurely, they are difficult to bring back.”

They laughed.

The three people exited the room and Jack found himself alone with the cat. He slumped onto the floor under the table. They most likely intended to kill Scarlet and the others. He had to act now.

Jack climbed out from under the table and made his way to the doorway leading to the passageway. Making his way carefully to the end, he arrived at a set of stairs. The man had said Scarlet and the others were located upstairs.

Scaling the steps cautiously, he suddenly heard footsteps coming along the hallway towards him. He raced up the remaining stairs as quietly as possible until he reached the top. He stopped. The footsteps passed by the bottom. Letting out a sigh of relief, he turned his attention to the upper level. The corridor headed in two directions, windows on one side, doors on the other.

Oh dear, he thought. So many doors and so little time.

He turned left and started down the corridor. He tried the first door and eased the door open. Nothing. An empty room. He continued down the corridor. He could not just simply try every room, otherwise he might stumble upon the kidnappers.

Glancing down the corridor, he looked at the doors receding away from him. They appeared identical, but Jack suddenly realised a large key poked out from the lock of one of the doors.

Why would they keep a room locked?

He cautiously made his way down the passage. Placing his ear against the door, he tried to listen for sounds. Nothing. He let out a sigh. Finally he turned the key in the lock, grabbed the handle and inched the door open. He saw a mirror. A sideboard. A bed. A chair…. with someone tied to it.

Scarlet.

She sat in the chair, her hands and legs tied to a sturdy wooden chair, a gag across her mouth. She looked up at him with amazement.

He closed the door, hurried to her side and removed the gag.

“Oh Jack.” She almost wept with relief. “How is it you are here?”

“It’s alright, Scarlet,” he said. “I hitched a ride on the balloon and then the truck.”

“Where are we? Is Mr Doyle with you? What –.”

“Hang on a minute and I’ll explain.” He started to tell her his adventure when he suddenly heard the distant sound of voices. Crossing to the door, he stuck his head into the hall. The voices were drawing closer. Now he heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs.

He closed the door. There was no time to untie Scarlet. If her assailants were returning to the room, then he would be captured and none of them would escape. He made a difficult decision.

“I’m sorry, Scarlet,” he said. “You’ll have to wait a bit longer.”

“What –.”

He retied the gag, all the while hearing the approach of footsteps. The kidnappers were almost at the room! He scurried across the floor and rolled under the bed.

Not a moment too soon. Jack heard someone fiddling with the lock. He peered up at Scarlet and saw the panicked look in her eyes. She allowed her head to sag, as if asleep.

Two people entered.

“I thought I relocked the door,” a man with a deep voice said.

“No matter.” The other spoke with a slight accent. “She is securely tied.”

Deep voice untied Scarlet’s feet and dragged her into a standing position.

“Your father has been most helpful,” he said. “We needed only to threaten your safety. A man is only as strong as his weakest link.”

Scarlet said something through the gag.

“Never fear, my lady,” deep voice said. “We are taking you to the doctor in the forest. He will look after you.”

The other man laughed unpleasantly.

They dragged her from the room and closed the door behind them. Jack heard a rattling at the lock – and then he heard the key turn.

No!

He heard the footsteps recede. After a moment, he made his way to the door and tried it. Locked!

Bazookas! he thought. How would he get out of this?

He looked around the interior. There was only one way out. The window. He crossed to it. It was a double hung window where either the top or bottom could slide or overlap the other.

Jack undid the latch and slowly pushed it open. The window looked out onto a small rear courtyard, a series of walls and the forest beyond. Jack looked just below the window. A small ledge ran the length of the building all the way to the end. If he could make it to the end, a thicker wall led from that corner to the end of the building. From there he could climb down to ground level.

The ledge only looked about six inches wide. Of course, he had walked along balance beams that width a million times – except he had a net below him when he did it.

Thinking of the unpleasant laugh of the man who had taken Scarlet away, he climbed out of the window, his feet finding the narrow ledge. His legs shook. He could not make such a dangerous walk if he was paralysed by fear. He took three deep breaths.

The shaking in his legs stopped. He took another final breath and started moving along the ledge, gripping the window at first for support, then holding onto the brickwork as he slid along the ledge. This type of work required his full focus. It also needed him to breathe in an absolutely normal fashion.

He heard the sound of a door opening downstairs. Jack stopped. If the person below looked up, he would be in a very bad position indeed. His nose twitched. A sneeze began to build in his nose.

Slowly, he eased his right hand along the brickwork to cover his face. He squeezed down hard on his upper nose. After a moment, the sensation passed. Footsteps sounded on the gravel below and he heard the person move back inside. Taking another step, he continued to move along the wall.

One step after another, he told himself. I’ll just count my steps. One, two, three, four…

He continued counting his paces. When he reached windows along the side of the building, he glanced inside each one and the rooms were – mercifully – empty.

The distant sputtering of a vehicle came from the other side of the castle. It could only be the moving of the prisoners to the doctor’s compound. He had to hurry.

Reaching the end of the ledge, he now jumped to the wall below and hurried along it to the end of the building. He looked down at the end. The wall measured about ten feet in height and looked to be quite smooth. Very difficult to climb down. Fortunately, a tree grew nearby. He leapt from the top of the wall onto a branch, swung momentarily, dropped down to the branch below and lowered himself to the ground.

“All in a day’s work,” he muttered.

Jack made his way through the forest until he reached a road. He had just tried to decide which way to go when he heard a steam truck approaching. He ducked behind a tree as it chuffed past.

Waiting till it turned a bend in the road, Jack came out of hiding and ran after it. He kept the truck some distance ahead of him – he could not risk the driver looking in his side mirror and seeing him jogging after the vehicle!

Finally he heard it slow down and Jack stepped back into the forest. He crept through the undergrowth until he reached a large wooden fence surrounding the compound. He cautiously climbed up over the top and dropped into the interior of the compound.

Surrounded by trees, he slowly crept through the undergrowth until he heard the engine start again. He reached the front entry to the compound just in time to see the truck drive away. A man in a lab coat closed the wooden gates and slid a piece of timber across, securing it.

That must be the doctor, Jack thought.

There looked to be three brick buildings within the compound. The doctor disappeared into the closest. Jack knelt in the undergrowth. He remained unsure as to his next course of action. Looking up at the sky, he reckoned it to be about two in the afternoon. He could wait till night to make his move, but he might be too late by then.

Creeping over to the first building, he risked a glance in the front window, seeing only a plain looking kitchen with a wooden bench. Not much to be seen there.

On a hunch, he decided to investigate the buildings towards the rear of the compound. He rounded the first building and went down a path to the next. Looking towards the remaining two buildings, he realised they looked strange, but he could not work out why.

The penny dropped. They had no windows. Very odd. He crossed to the front door of the nearest building. Made from metal, a single panel covered the centre of it. It had to be some sort of jail.

Other people could be held captive within the prison. Jack pulled back the latch on the panel. He could see only a set of bars and darkness within. The interior smelt like rotting food. He heard someone shuffling about within.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “Is someone in there?”

The shuffling grew a little louder. He heard footsteps approaching. Finally he saw a darkened figure appear at the end of the room.

“Hello,” Jack said. “Do you need help?”

The figure drew closer. Then, while it was still half way across the room, it leapt, covering the distance in a second. It slammed against the bars. Jack fell back in horror, stifling a scream.

The thing looked as if it had been born in a nightmare. Its facial features were that of a man, but there the similarity ended. Short, black hair covered its entire face. Its nose ended in a snout. The creature gripped the bars from the other side with hairy paws, snarling at Jack with sharp bared teeth.

The thing had once been a man, but somehow it had been altered so that it was now part animal. In fact, the more Jack stared at it, the more it resembled some sort of black bear.

Jack turned away in horror – and found himself face to face with the doctor.

“Not so fast, my little friend,” the doctor said, jabbing him in the arm with a needle.

Jack tried to dart past him, but the needle was already taking effect.

Chapter Fifteen

Jack awoke with a woozy sensation in his stomach and a cloudy head. A face hovered above him – a face he vaguely recognised.

Oh, crumbs.

The doctor.

The man introduced himself. “I am Doctor Moran. I wish to thank you for joining our little party.”

Jack shifted his head. He was on an operating table set at a forty–five degree angle in a cold, concrete floor. Jon Harker, Scarlet and a man he assumed to be Joseph Bell were all in a similar situation on tables to his right. Opposite them lay a series of benches with microscopes, test tubes, flasks and Bunsen burners. A line of windows ran along the top of the wall behind them. A bench lay beneath them. Jack was reminded of the interior of Mr Doyle’s apartment.

“What do you want?” Joseph Bell demanded.

“I am a doctor, charged with the task of unravelling the very fabric of life.”

“Who are you working for?” Scarlet asked.

The doctor smiled. “Some things are better kept secret.”

“You’re a traitor,” Jon Harker said. “You’re working with those blasted Germans.”

Doctor Moran shrugged. “I am a doctor. I am beyond nationalities. Beyond countries. I am interested only in my research and what benefits it may bring mankind.”

“Benefits!” The word exploded from Jack’s mouth before he knew what he was doing. “I don’t see any benefit to the person you have prisoner in your cell.”

“There have always been slaves,” he said. “Just as there have always been masters. Slaves must know their place is to serve just as masters know their role is to lead.”

“What have you done to that person?” Jack demanded, his voice shaking with both fear and anger.

Doctor Moran slowly walked around each of the operating tables. “Slaves must be conditioned. They must behave according to the dictates of those in charge.”

“But you’ve turned him into some sort of…animal,” Jack said, aghast.

“I have combined the elements of his human nature with that of a bear,” the doctor explained. “In this case, a bear.”

“A…a bear?” Scarlet stammered.

“I have created many such hybrids,” Doctor Moran said. “Bears, lions, pigs just to name a few.”

“But that’s inhuman,” Joseph Bell said. “Surely you can see that.”

“Their lives have been sacrificed for the greater cause of science,” Doctor Moran said. “Just as yours will be.”

“You’re a monster,” Jon Harker said. “You’re –.”

Mr Harker stopped in mid sentence. At that moment a figure stepped into the room. Hunched over and looking downwards, the person carried a tray with a flask of alcohol and a glass.

Scarlet gave a moan of horror. Even the men were speechless.

“This is Wilfred,” Doctor Moran said. “He once worked as a servant on the island for the previous owners. Now he is part man and part pig.”

“Is that what you intend for us?” Scarlet asked.

“I have had much success with the pig formulae,” Doctor Moran said.

Jack listened to the doctor in horror. How can he be so calm? Jack wondered. He might as well be discussing the weather.

The doctor poured himself a drink while Wilfred stood nearby, looking downtrodden and fearful. “I have not had the pleasure of using it on a woman before. Now that will change.”

“If you harm my daughter,” Joseph Bell started, “I swear I will –.”

Moran threw the glass at Mr Bell. It smashed, sending pieces everywhere. Blood started to pour down the helpless man’s face. Moran stepped over to the bound man and slapped him.

“No!” Scarlet screamed. “Leave him alone!”

The doctor ignored her and slapped him again. Seething with anger, he said to Bell, “You will not give orders here. I am in charge. You are just a laboratory animal.”

Scarlet started to weep.

The doctor marched to the door. “Come, Wilfred. We will let these rats think about their future contribution to science while I assemble their potions.”

The man–animal followed his master to the door. Moran closed the door and for a long moment the only sound was that of Scarlet weeping. Jack lay back in frustration. He had come such a long way to save his companions and now he could not even save himself.

Scarlet suddenly stopped crying. “All may not be lost.”

“What do you mean, my dear?” her father asked.

“When the doctor threw that glass at you,” Scarlet said, “some of it landed in the crook of my arm.”

“Can you get to it?” Jack asked.

“Let me try,” Scarlet said.

Jack could see her moving her arm against her body. After a moment she let out of cry of relief. “I’ve got it in my hand. I’ll try to cut the strap. Just give me a minute.”

It took longer than a minute. Jack kept looking at the door, expecting the doctor to return at any moment.

“Hurry my dear,” Jon Harker urged her.

“She’s going as fast as she can,” Joseph Bell snapped.

“I’m just saying –.” Mr Harker began.

“It’s alright gentlemen,” Scarlet said. “I’m almost there.”

Another long minute passed. Scarlet let out a sigh of satisfaction as she finally freed one of her hands. She immediately untied the leather strap restraining her other arm and started to untie her feet. Just as she stepped away from the table, the door slowly opened.

Wilfred stood in the doorway.

Jack and the others remained frozen, as if in time, staring at the pigman. In return, the man looked at them quizzically, sniffing the air as if the aroma could make him understand the scene before him. Scarlet smiled pleasantly at him and edged over to Jack’s bench.

Glancing back at the pigman, she said, “Hello Wilfred. You’re a nice man, aren’t you?”

Scarlet began undoing the leather straps restraining Jack’s hands. Wilfred watched the scene with interest. She undid Jack’s feet and he slowly slid off the table.

“What Doctor Moran has done to you is very cruel, Wilfred,” Scarlet said softly, slowly making her way over to her father and Mr Harker. She undid their restraints and the men climbed off the operating tables.

Wilfred sniffed the air. Suddenly Doctor Moran burst in the door.

“What is –?” He stopped in astonishment. Turned to Wilfred and hit him. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

As he ran from the room, Wilfred snarled and turned to them.

“No Wilfred. No!” Scarlet screamed.

The pigman started advancing on them. Mr Bell picked up a chair to defend himself.

“Quickly!” he said. “Jack and Scarlet! Through the windows!”

Jack helped Scarlet climb up onto the bench to unlatch the nearest window. Wilfred threw himself at the chair and tried to rip it from Mr Bell’s grasp. Jon Harker grabbed a metal lamp off the bench and struck at the creature’s head.

It swiped him sideways, sending him sprawling to the floor. Mr Bell tried to push the creature out of the room using the chair, but Wilfred wrestled it from his grasp and tossed it across the chamber. The pigman threw himself at Mr Bell, grabbing him around the throat.

“Wilfred,” Scarlet said in a stern voice. “Don’t do that.”

Her words froze the pigman. He looked up at her, his eyes examining her closely. After a moment, he slowly released Mr Bell.

“You remember you were once a man,” Scarlet said softly.

Wilfred seemed entranced by her voice. He tilted his head as if she were singing the words rather than speaking them. Jack could see some sort of humanity still dwelt within the creature. The two older men climbed up onto the bench. Scarlet motioned them through the window. Mr Bell made as if to argue, but Scarlet firmly grasped his arm and directed him through the gap, all the while keeping her eye on the pigman.

“You probably had a family,” Scarlet said. “You may have had a wife and children. At least you had a mother and father.”

As Jack climbed through the window, he looked back at the pigman’s face. The creature looked stricken with grief. Jack could not even begin to imagine what it would be like inside his mind. The evil Doctor had tried to turn him into an animal, but beneath the animal exterior, the soul of a man still dwelt.

Jack helped Scarlet up onto the window sill. Just before they dropped into the garden outside, Jack saw tears well up in the eyes of the pigman.

“What is that thing?” Mr Harker asked.

“It’s not a thing,” Scarlet said sternly. “It’s a man. A very tragic man, thanks to Doctor Moran.”

A scream emanated from the back of the complex. A very human scream.

“What on Earth–.” Mr Bell started.

They made their way to the corner of the building. The door of the building Jack had approached earlier lay wide open. Doctor Moran lay sprawled in the doorway. Two of his creatures were hunched over him. Another had its mouth attached to his throat.

“Oh no,” Scarlet said, turning her face.

“The creatures have turned on him,” Mr Harker said.

Jack felt sick. He had no cause to like the doctor, but he also had no wish to see anyone killed. At that moment the creatures looked up and saw Jack and the others watching them.

They let out a roar.

“Time we got out of here,” Mr Bell said.

They turned and ran towards the entry to the compound. Jack slid the wooden plank across and opened the gate. They looked back into the compound and saw a dozen of the creatures curiously examining the environment outside their cells. A few of them looked in their direction. They started loping towards them.

“Quickly!” Mr Harker urged.

They hurried through the gate and pulled them closed.

“They won’t lock,” Jack said.

“Hopefully they won’t need to,” Mr Bell said. “With a little luck those creatures will take hours to work out how to get through them and we’ll be long gone by then.”

They ran down the dirt road away from the compound. After they turned a corner and it seemed safe, they slowed to a walk. Mr Harker suggested they make their way to the coast. From there they might be able to hail a passing boat. They started scrambling through the undergrowth.

“Which reminds me,” Mr Bell continued. “Who are you, young man, and how on earth did you find us?”

Jack quickly explained how he came to be on the island. By the time he finished, Scarlet’s eyes were quite wide open with amazement.

“I’ve never heard such an incredible tale,” she said.

“A little too incredible, if you ask me,” Jon Harker said, frowning.

Jack felt his face growing red. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“All I’m saying is that it seems a little far fetched.”

“Then how did I get here?”

“You may be in partnership with the Nazis.”

Jack felt like yelling at the older man. “To begin with, I don’t even know what a Nazi is. And why would I be trying to help you escape?”

“That’s a ridiculous accusation, Mr Harker,” Scarlet said angrily. “Jack and Mr Doyle have been helping me to find my father.” She clenched her fists. “And they are both men of honour.”

“Jon,” Mr Bell began patiently. “I’m sure this young man is a friend. In fact, we might still be stuck in that lab if it weren’t for his help.”

“You know we’ve had a leak within the society,” Jon Harker said.

“I know,” Mr Bell said. “But Jack has nothing to do with that. And besides,” he added, “the Nazis now know the truth about Phoenix.”

Mr Harker’s mouth fell open. “You can’t have told them.”

“They threatened my daughter,” Mr Bell said. “I had no other choice.”

Mr Harker grabbed him by the collar. “How dare you –.”

“Unhand my father,” Scarlet cried.

“It’s alright, Scarlet,” Joseph Bell said, gripping the other man’s arm. “Jon just needs to calm down.”

Jon Harker slowly released Bell. “You know what you’ve done, Joseph? You may have just brought about the end of the world.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Joseph Bell replied, but he still looked worried.

“The Nazis will now have the ultimate weapons at their disposal,” Mr Harker said. “It’s only a matter of time before they use them.”

Jack felt like he was watching a game of ping pong.

“I’ve only got one question for the time being,” Jack said. “What exactly is a Nazi?”

“A political party,” Mr Bell explained. They were drawing nearer the sea now. A stiff onshore breeze was blowing cold air in their direction. “In Germany they are known as the National Socialist German Workers' Party. We have anglicized their name as the Nazi party.”

“And who are they?” Scarlet asked.

“Fanatics,” Mr Bell said shortly. “A political force within Germany bent on achieving ultimate power. Their leader is a man named Anton Drexler.”

“And how do you know all this?” Scarlet continued. “What is your connection with them, father? You must tell me what’s going on.”

Mr Bell looked ashamed. “I’m sorry I have lied to you, Scarlet. It seems I’ve spent my entire lifetime doing just that.”

“Then you must start telling the truth,” Scarlet said.

Mr Harker looked annoyed. “Telling the truth is what has caused all these problems.”

They scrambled up a grassy embankment. As they came over the rise they saw a small cove before them. The sun now lay low in the sky. The wind howled as it blew over them. Making their way down to the beach, they saw the mainland only a few miles away. Jack and the others looked out across the water.

Jack shivered. He knew nothing about politics, but it sounded like these Nazis were dangerous characters.

“We need to find a boat,” he said. “I doubt any of us could swim that distance.”

“It would be too dangerous at this time of day,” Mr Harker said.

“I agree,” a voice said from behind them. “And far too chilly.”

Jack turned in astonishment at the sound of the voice.

“Mr Doyle!”

Chapter Sixteen

His mentor stood a few feet behind them, looking completely relaxed, holding a cane in his hand. Lucy Harker stood at his side. She ran forward and threw her arms around her father.

Mr Doyle stepped forward and clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “My boy, are you alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked serious. “You are never to do anything like that again.”

“Like what, Mr Doyle?”

“Jumping onto that airship!” He looked annoyed. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I’m...I’m sorry, Mr Doyle,” Jack felt embarrassed. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”

“I am,” Ignatius Doyle said. “But you must not risk your life in such a way again.”

His bottom lip quivered.

“Mr Doyle,” Scarlet cut in. “Jack has been invaluable to us. If he had not pursued us when he did, then we probably would have died.”

Mr Doyle swallowed hard and gripped his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve done a sterling job.”

“The question is,” Joseph Bell interrupted, “how did you get here? And how do we now get off this island?”

“The answer to your first question will require an extended reply,” Mr Doyle explained. “Please allow me to show you the answer to your second question.”

Mr Doyle led them along the beach till they reached the headland. They rounded the rocky outcrop and scrambled across rocks until they reached a small inlet. Jack was starting to find it difficult to navigate in the gathering darkness. The rocks were wet underfoot.

“Do you have a boat, Mr Doyle?” Jon Harker asked.

“Better than that,” Mr Doyle replied.

He led them down over a series of rocks leading almost to the water. Ahead of them, Jack could see a strange egg shaped contraption on a low rocky outcrop. It sat balanced on two skids and had a strange cross shaped structure dangling over the top of it.

The smell of steam wafted across the air to Jack.

“What on earth is that?” Scarlet asked.

“I imagine your father knows the answer to that question,” Mr Doyle replied, turning to the men. “Or Mr Harker. I was able to keep this contraption under control, but only just. A man with more experience would bring about a safer flight.”

“I don’t know how –.” Jon Harker started.

“The time for deceit has ended,” Mr Bell snapped. “It should have ended centuries ago.” He turned to Mr Doyle. “I have experience in flying the helicopter and I will do so if you wish.”

“I do,” Mr Doyle replied.

“Heli…what?” Jack asked.

“Helicopter,” Mr Doyle explained. “The word is adapted by a French word, hélicoptère, which in turn originates from the Greek words ‘helix’ and ‘pteron’ meaning spiral and wing respectively.”

“What does it do?” Jack asked as they neared the enormous contraption.

“It’s a vertical flying machine,” Mr Doyle explained. “Powered by steam, it will carry us across the water to the other side.”

“I have some concerns about that,” Mr Harker said. “I don’t wish to appear troublesome, but it was never intended to carry this much weight.”

“He’s correct,” Mr Bell confirmed. “I doubt it has ever carried so many people.”

Mr Doyle looked past them. “Well, I think we’ll just have to test its capabilities. Friends of yours, are they?”

They turned to see a group of figures in the gathering darkness.

“It’s the creatures from the lab,” Joseph Bell said. “They must have followed us.”

“If you have a weapon, Mr Doyle,” Mr Harker said. “I believe we can take down a few with no problems.”

“No!” Scarlet protested. “They are men. Or they were.”

“We will not shoot them,” Mr Doyle said quietly. “Here. We’re at the machine. Let’s climb aboard and make a getaway while we still can.”

They climbed into the oddly shaped contraption. The interior was much like a large egg flattened at the rear end. Jack could see the engine already alight and hot. The front contained a large window. Before it a control mechanism was set into the floor. There were no seats.

Mr Harker adjusted controls at the boiler as Joseph Bell seized the steering mechanism. A steady vibration ran through the contraption as a loud pounding emanated throughout the structure. The interior was deafening. Jack and Mr Doyle pulled the door shut as the animal men approached the helicopter.

“We’ll need lift off shortly, gentlemen,” Mr Doyle yelled.

“Almost there,” Mr Harker called back. “Just a few more seconds.”

A pounding emanated from the other side of the door. Soft at first, it quickly increased in intensity as more of the creatures started beating at the metal. One of them rounded the machine and peered in the window. He drew back a fist and hit the glass.

A long crack cut the middle of the pane.

“Joseph,” Mr Harker said. “We need power.”

“Alright,” Joseph Bell said. “I’m applying full power. Try now.”

Jon Harker turned the control mechanism. They heard the whoop–whoop of the rotor blades as they whizzed about above the top of the helicopter. The sound of the engine and the moving parts was deafening. The floor beneath them shuddered.

Up, Jack thought. Up!

More of the creature assembled at the front of the helicopter, banging at the windows. Others had drawn back into the darkness, frightened by the noise coming from the machine.

The helicopter tilted backwards, lifted up a few feet and then fell back to earth with a huge thud. Jack, Mr Doyle and Scarlet fell against the bulkhead.

Mr Bell twisted the control and pulled it backwards again and the helicopter lifted off. The flying machine turned until it faced the mainland. Then Mr Bell pushed forward on the control column and a moment later they found themselves over the water.

Jack yelled out with joy and punched the air. Mr Doyle looked at him with surprise, then broke out into a huge smile. They were away from the island.

Mr Doyle leant close to Jack’s ear. “These gentlemen are rather more proficient than myself at controlling this device. During my flight over here, I hit the water twice and almost sunk us.”

“How did you find us?” Jack yelled.

“Later,” Mr Doyle replied.

The helicopter zoomed across the water at a height of about fifty feet. They suddenly heard an enormous boom from behind them. Scarlet peered out through a small window set into the rear of the chamber. A red glow flickered across her features.

“It’s the castle,” she yelled. “It’s on fire.”

“I believe the Nazis have destroyed it,” Mr Doyle said.

“You know about the Nazis?” Jack asked.

“A little,” Mr Doyle replied. “I hope to discover more about them shortly.” He made his way to over to Mr Bell and pointed at a place jutting out from the mainland. The man nodded. He swerved the helicopter and a moment later the flying machine met the coast and slowed its forward momentum. It hovered over an open field ringed by trees and slowly descended.

It hit the ground, bounced once or twice and settled. Mr Harker manipulated a few controls and the rotor above them slowed. The sound of the engine died away.

Jack felt like he was slightly deafened.

Mr Doyle opened the door and they all clambered out onto the open grass with a sigh of relief. The rotors came to a complete halt. Jack let out a sigh of relief. There had been times in the last two days when he thought he would not survive. He looked up into the clear black sky above. The stars twinkled. The night lay silent and peaceful around him.

A branch cracked in the undergrowth.

Jack saw something move in the darkness at the base of the trees ringing the field. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Then he realised several figures were running towards them.

“Mr Doyle!” he began. “There are –.”

A voice yelled at them from the darkness.

“Everyone on the ground!” the man ordered. “You’re all under arrest.”

Chapter Seventeen

Jack felt slightly sick as the truck jolted from side to side. After the strangers had pounced on them from the darkness, they were handcuffed and hoods placed over their heads. Anonymous hands had rushed them into the back of a truck. He sat between Mr Doyle and Scarlet.

He was feeling exhausted again. He had not slept well over the last two days and now a bone numbing weariness overtook him. He closed his eyes.

When he awoke, he realised the truck had ground to a halt. A hand grabbed his arm and he found himself being led away from the vehicle and along a tunnel. The only sound was their footsteps echoing up and down the long corridor. He felt roughened stonework underfoot. After a while the tunnel angled upwards.

A metal door clanged as it swung back on its hinges. Jack was propelled forward again and he felt the cuffs removed. A hand dragged the hood off his head.

Two benches jutted up against opposite sides of the room. A table sat in the centre. He saw his companions were already seated, gingerly rubbing their wrists and blinking at the sudden light. Only Mr Doyle looked composed.

Jack sat on the bench next to Mr Doyle. His eyes roamed about the interior of the cell.

Scarlet looks tired, he thought. But she looks defiant. She’s an amazing girl. Her father looks worried. Mr Harker looks irritated.

Now Jack’s eyes turned to the man who had led him into the chamber. He was tall, with black hair and a thin black moustache. He wore a grey suit and spindly wire glasses.

Mr Doyle leant back on the bench and folded his legs. “Will you be so kind as to tell Mr Griffin that Ignatius Doyle is requesting the pleasure of his company?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “We will be asking the questions. You will do the answering.”

“And I will happily supply the answers,” Mr Doyle replied calmly. “But only to Mr Griffin.”

The man frowned and left the room. The metal door was closed and bolted behind him.

“Where are we?” Scarlet asked. “Who are these men?”

“We are one hundred feet below the Tower of London,” Ignatius Doyle explained.

“How do you know?” Jon Harker asked, astonished.

“It is simplicity itself. I have based my assumption on the hours travelled, the differences in road quality, the sounds from outside the truck and smells ranging from the fish market to a tannery three blocks from here.” He looked at each of their faces in turn. “I know of only one place which fulfils all those conditions. We are in the underground headquarters of British Military Intelligence, known commonly as MI5.”

“MI5?” Joseph Bell repeated. “What could they possibly want with us?”

Mr Doyle laughed. “Surely that is obvious. They want to know everything we know about the growing Nazi threat. In addition, they want to know about Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?” Jack asked. “Is that a type of bird?”

“It is indeed, my boy,” Mr Doyle nodded. “In fact, its claim to fame is its ability to rise from the ashes. However, it is also the name of a secret society. One that has existed for centuries.”

Upon saying this, he looked directly at the other two men.

Joseph Bell twisted uncomfortably on the bench. “Those answers will be forthcoming, I promise.”

Mr Harker frowned at him. “Silence is our –.”

“The time has come,” Mr Bell said, “for the truth to be told.”

“I must agree with Mr Bell, father,” Lucy Harker said. “You have lived a secret life all these years. Now I must know the truth. You are not associated with these Nazis, surely?”

“Of course not,” Jon Harker blustered. “They are another matter entirely.”

Joseph Bell interrupted. “But before we get to that, I must ask how Mr Doyle was able to find and coordinate our rescue.”

Mr Doyle nodded. “I am happy to relate the details.” He formed a steeple with his fingers and looked over at the men. “After the airship took off from the London metrotower with Scarlet, Jack and yourself aboard, Lucy and I retrieved my airship – the Lion’s Mane – and followed you.

“I had caused a hole in the side of the Nazi ship and I knew it would have to land to either make repairs or be abandoned. We searched the countryside and finally located the vessel.

“Unfortunately I found the airship had not only been abandoned, but it had been torched and destroyed. I admit I was rather baffled as to how to proceed until events took a turn for the better – we were set upon and kidnapped.”

“By whom?” Scarlet asked.

“By members of the Phoenix Society.”

Both Mr Bell and Mr Harker looked at each other.

“Your organisation had obviously become desperate for knowledge,” Ignatius Doyle told the two men. “I was happy for us to be captured as I was just as eager for information as they were.

“We were taken aboard a steam ship which quickly set sail from the west coast. We were questioned at intervals regarding our knowledge of Phoenix and the Nazis. Fortunately, we were able to convince them of our ignorance. As night fell, I was able to facilitate our escape from our holding cell. We set a fire to create a diversion. While the crew were busy putting out the fire, Lucy and I went to the bridge.

“Lucy found a map indicating the location of the Nazi hideout. We climbed onto the deck where the steam helicopter was in the process of lifting off. We overpowered the pilots and took over the flying machine.

“As you can imagine, it was a rather bumpy ride.” Mr Doyle smiled at the thought. “However, we were able to navigate our way to the island without too many problems. We had landed on the beach and begun a search of the island when we discovered you.”

“An amazing tale,” Mr Bell said, shaking his head.

“Now the time has come for you to speak to us of Phoenix,” Mr Doyle said. “Or perhaps you may wait a moment. It sounds like our kind host has arrived.”

The door was unlocked and a young man, completely bald with an angular face and grey eyes entered. He shook his head in amazement at seeing Mr Doyle.

“Well, bless me,” he said with a wry smile. “I never thought I would see you behind bars.”

“A momentary slip-up on MI5’s part,” Ignatius Doyle remarked. He turned to the others. “Allow me introduce you to Thomas Griffin.”

The others nodded in his direction.

“Mr Griffin is the invisible man of MI5,” Mr Doyle continued. “He heads up most of the field work for the organisation.”

“How do you gentlemen know each other?” Scarlet asked.

“A small matter involving a diamond, a purple parrot and a man with a false leg,” Mr Doyle explained.

“Not so small,” Mr Griffin said. “If it weren’t for Mr Doyle, a murderer would have escaped and the crown jewels would now be residing in Russia.” He sat down on the edge of the table. “But to other matters. It is vitally important that you give me whatever information you have concerning the Phoenix Society. Our nation’s security – and indeed that of the world – is relying on you.”

“Phoenix has always been an organisation dedicated to peace,” Mr Bell said.

Jon Harker looked ready to explode. “You must remain silent,” he told Mr Bell. “Outsiders cannot be brought into our private affairs.”

“Outsiders already have been,” Mr Bell said angrily. “The Nazis have already infiltrated Phoenix and the society is too disjointed to do anything. We must marshal our resources in order to stop them.”

“I cannot help you,” Mr Harker said quietly.

“Then don’t!” Mr Bell snapped. “I, for one, am prepared to do my duty.”

Joseph Bell looked at each inhabitant of the room, one by one. Finally his eyes settled on his daughter’s face. “First, I must apologise to my daughter. Scarlet, I am sorry for having deceived you all these years. I promise you good intentions lay at the heart of my deceit.”

“Let the truth be told now, father,” Scarlet said.

Joseph Bell nodded. “It began with Leonardo da Vinci.”

“The painter?” Jack asked.

“Yes, the painter,” Mr Bell confirmed. “But he was much more. An artist. An inventor. A scientist. He studied anatomy and botany, the flight of birds, the action of the waves. He was interested in geology, mathematics, cartography. His mind never stopped working. He truly was the renaissance man.”

“But what is your connection with Leonardo?” Lucy Harker leant forward.

“When he died a number of associates – the chief one being his favourite pupil, Francesco Metzi, mourned his loss and vowed his work would continue.”

“But how could it?” Jack asked. “He was dead.”

“Leonardo was dead, but not the passion for knowledge he had instilled in others,” Joseph Bell said. “Metzi could see the genius of Leonardo where other men could not. He was the first to realise that Leonardo truly was one of the greatest geniuses who had ever lived. It could be centuries before others realised the true worth of Leonardo – if ever.

“And so the Phoenix Society was born.

“The first member, of course, was Francesco Metzi. He sought out other men of his age who were prepared to assist.”

“Assist him? How?” Scarlet asked.

“Leonardo left copious notes. Thousands of pages of diagrams and inventions, theories and ideas. Metzi needed men to continue Leonardo’s work, to help him build the devices that Leonardo had designed. To help nourish the many seeds that Leonardo had planted.”

Mr Griffin frowned. “But no–one has ever built any of da Vinci’s creations.”

Joseph Bell gave a wry smile. “Not publicly. No. Metzi and the other members of the Phoenix Society knew how dangerous those creations could be in the wrong hands.”

“What creations?” Thomas Griffin asked, frowning.

“Leonardo designed dozens of inventions made for war. The machine gun. Cluster bombs. Scythed chariots. Giant crossbows. Tanks. And he came up with the idea of flight centuries before anyone else.”

“And I thought he was just a painter,” Jack said.

“Leonardo was a genius, a man of many ideas,” Mr Bell said. “But he had little in the way of funds to make his dreams a reality. This was Francesco Metzi’s goal. To build those inventions, but to keep them secret at all costs.”

“But why?” Scarlet asked. “Why build them if they were not to be used.”

“Because the human race was not ready,” Mr Bell explained. “Can you imagine if the machine gun were in use centuries ago? Or powered flight? Or tanks? We probably would have bombed ourselves back to the stone age by now.”

“But most of those inventions now exist,” Mr Doyle pointed out. “Surely they can no longer threaten the human race?”

“The Phoenix Society succeeded in developing Leonardo’s creations – but then we went further. The society continued to work in secret, building and designing and all the time learning.”

“You can’t mean they have inventions more powerful than we have today?” Mr Griffin asked.

“More powerful? No,” Mr Bell’s face clouded over. “Infinitely more powerful. Today’s technology is like the medieval ages as compared to the weaponry of the society.”

“I find this hard to believe,” Mr Griffin said. “Do you have any proof?”

“The proof is all around you,” Mr Bell said. “You saw the helicopter?”

“My men told me about it.”

“And you are familiar with Milverton’s bacteria?”

“Of course. You’re not saying Milverton –.”

“Of course he was part of the society,” Mr Bell said impatiently. “But he broke away and published his findings. His discovery, Milverton’s bacteria, was centuries ahead of our modern day technology. And Partington’s submarine.”

“But both those men –.”

“Are dead.” Joseph Bell did not speak for a moment.

“But surely the society did not have them killed,” Mr Griffin said.

“No.” Mr Bell shook his head. “Murder was not the way of the society. Only the eternal quest for scientific knowledge. And for centuries the promise of secrecy has been kept. But men like Milverton and Partington and others craved for more than knowledge. They wanted the money and recognition that releasing the inventions would bring. And so they sought a special dispensation for the release of selected inventions on the proviso that the money would be shared among all the members of the society.”

“Milverton’s Bacteria is used by every country across the globe,” Mr Doyle said. “The income for him and his estate has been considerable.”

“Many thousands of dollars, I would imagine,” Scarlet said.

“Many millions of dollars,” Jon Harker corrected her. “The bacteria has changed our world forever. It made me and Joseph and many others immensely rich.”

“Except there was a problem,” Mr Doyle said.

Mr Bell nodded. “Indeed. Allowing Milverton and Partington to release the inventions was like the crack in a dam. Knowledge of the society began to leak to outsiders.”

“I imagine you’re speaking about the Nazi’s,” Thomas Griffin said.

“Tragically, yes,” Mr Bell confirmed. “Somehow they found about the Society. They murdered both Milverton and Partington for information. They then kidnapped both myself and Jon.”

“And you told them,” Jon Harker said, shaking his head. “You told them.”

“I had to,” Mr Bell snapped. “They threatened Scarlet. They would have killed her if I had not spoken.”

“How bad is all this?” Jack asked. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“The worst?” Jon Harker looked ill. “The worst case scenario is the end of all life on this planet.”

Shocked silence greeted the statement.

“Bazookas,” Jack said.

“Surely you can’t mean that, father,” Lucy said.

“I’m afraid so,” Jon Harker said. “Once the Nazis have control of the Phoenix lab they will have untold power at their fingertips.”

“Then we have to stop that from happening,” Thomas Griffin said, drawing himself up. “Where exactly is this lab?”

“In the Swiss Alps,” Bell said. “Not far from Reichenbach Falls.”

“Then we must travel there.” Mr Griffin focused on the two men. “I trust you gentlemen will assist?”

“We will,” Bell confirmed. He turned to his companion.

Jon Harker slowly nodded. He looked dazed, as if events had moved too quickly for him. “I suppose we must move forward now. The Society is no longer a secret and we cannot allow the Nazis to have access to the weaponry.” He studied the circle of faces around him. “You can rely upon me. I will assist you however I can. I just pray we are not too late.”

Chapter Eighteen

Despite the heating within the airship, Jack still felt cold. He had suffered yet another restless night’s sleep and risen early. This airship – the Britannia – was much larger than the Lion’s Mane. A three tiered gondola hung beneath its enormous balloon. Scarlet, her father, the Harker family and Mr Doyle had all taken passage as had a number of MI5 agents and a contingent of soldiers. They had left an airfield in Manchester with a squadron of other airships. In addition, more airships had joined the convoy from France. A few Swiss ships were also due to meet them at their destination.

Jack yawned. The sun was still low in the sky. A man in the galley had made him a cup of hot chocolate and he held it tightly in his hands to keep them warm. When he lent his face close to the glass, he breathed on it and the surface fogged immediately.

“You’re up early,” a voice said from behind him.

He turned to see Ignatius Doyle.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “What about you?”

“Not very well,” Mr Doyle admitted. “I kept waking up thinking about the battle ahead.” He drew his coat around him. “I thought you’d like to know that I’ve taken some steps regarding the poor creatures living on the island.”

“What will happen to them?”

“I spoke to Griffin. He is sending a team over there to find them all and bring them back. Hopefully a cure will be found for their condition.”

Jack looked out the window. “How long till we arrive at the falls?”

“We’ll be there in three hours. However, before we arrive, there’s something I’d like to give you.” He pulled out a small box and handed it to Jack.

“What is it?”

“Have a look inside.”

Jack opened it. The box contained a magnifying glass, a curious rubber object, a lump of something that looked like wax and a metal device with a series of springs and cogs measuring about three inches in length.

“Every detective must own a magnifying glass,” Mr Doyle explained. “The science of detection begins with one thing – observation. Following observation is deduction - assembling all the pieces into a coherent picture.”

Mr Doyle picked up the metal object. “This is a lock pick. A very handy device on occasion.”

Jack took it from him carefully.

He now had his lock pick. He really was a detective – or a criminal.

Mr Doyle seemed to read his mind. “Use only when necessary.”

Jack picked up the next object.

“A rubber nose,” Mr Doyle said gravely. “Every detective should own one. I shall show you later how it is applied.”

Jack looked into the box at the last item – the odd shaped piece of wax.

“My apologies,” Mr Doyle popped it into his mouth. “I was wondering where that cheese went.”

Looking into the box, Jack tried to remember when he had last received a gift.

He realised it was that last Christmas with his parents. His mother had given him a compass, a small brass object with a delicate needle that always pointed in the right direction. He still carried the gift with him everywhere, buried deep in his pocket as a reminder of his parents.

You’re still with me, he thought. Showing me the way.

“Thank you, Mr Doyle,” Jack said.

“You’re most welcome, my boy.”

A bell chimed.

“Ah, the morning alarm. We must now eat. A big day lies ahead of us.”

Jack put the objects into his pocket. They walked the length of the airship till they reached the galley. The room was now full of people, eating and drinking. A few soldiers were woofing down breakfasts. Scarlet and the others had assembled around a table at the end.

Mr Griffin looked up as Mr Doyle and Jack arrived.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “I was just about to detail our line of attack.”

Ignatius Doyle and Jack sat down. Jack looked over at Scarlet. She flashed him a smile and Jack felt slightly wobbly at the knees.

I think she likes me, he thought. He hoped nothing happened to her. They were heading into battle, after all. Her father had tried to persuade her to remain behind and Jack found himself wishing she had. A battle was no place for a girl – even one as lively as Scarlet.

“We have been in communication with the Swiss government,” Mr Griffin said. “Having explained this situation to them, they have agreed to give us full cooperation during this crisis.”

“We will be making a targeted assault on the Phoenix compound. Our initial goal is to determine the status of the compound. If the Phoenix scientists are still in control of it, then we will negotiate a peaceful settlement. If the Nazis are in control, we will still attempt a peaceful resolution, but we must be prepared to use force if necessary.

“Mr Harker and Mr Bell have agreed to take us to the entrance of the compound. That is as far as their participation need entail. MI5 and the military will take over from there.”

“What is the status of the German government?” Mr Harker asked.

“There is still friction between our two countries,” Mr Griffin said. “The German government have agreed to co–operate with us, but we must remember the Nazis have enormous power in Germany.”

“How have they become so powerful?” Scarlet asked.

Thomas Griffin gave her a smile. “It’s wonderful to see a woman interested in politics.”

Scarlet bristled, but held her tongue.

“Sorry, Miss Bell,” Mr Griffin said. “I know you have a keen and intelligent mind.”

“I accept your apology.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Ten years have passed since the end of the great war. Germany was comprehensively defeated, but at the cost of millions of lives. The war ran for six years and only came to an end when the Americans allied with us. Their participation signalled the end for Germany.

“Since that time there has been a growing feeling in Germany that their leaders let them down. Many people still believe they would have won the war if their government had not surrendered.

“In addition, you are probably familiar with the issue of repatriation payments?”

“What’s repatriation?” Jack asked.

“It’s when money must be paid in compensation,” Mr Doyle explained. “In this case I believe Mr Griffin is speaking in terms of money paid back to Britain and other countries to compensate for the war.”

“I am,” Mr Griffin confirmed. “Those payments stifled the German economy for years. About three years ago the Germans declared national bankruptcy. This meant the repatriation payments were halted. A national building program began to rebuild the economy.”

“But they just completed building a metrotower,” Lucy Harker pointed out. “How could they afford such an enormous endeavour?”

“Much of that money was supplied in the form of loans from the world bank,” Mr Griffin said.

“Everyone seems to have wanted to rebuild Germany,” Scarlet said. “We seem to have been very generous.”

“Not so much generous as pragmatic,” Mr Griffin continued. “A stable German government is to everyone’s advantage.”

“And if Germany should become…unstable?” Scarlet asked.

Thomas Griffin looked grim. “The Nazis would seize their opportunity and Anton Drexler would probably be made Chancellor.”

A number of pings rang out over the ship’s intercom.

“That means we’re starting to descend,” Mr Griffin explained. “I’d prefer if everyone suited up as if they were leaving the ship.” He added, “Just in case.”

Everyone filed out of the room to their respective cabins. Jack followed Mr Doyle.

“What did Mr Griffin mean?” Jack asked. “When he said, ‘just in case’.”

“We may be heading into a battle,” Mr Doyle said sadly. “Anything might happen. If the airship is struck, then we will find ourselves lost in the snow. Best be rugged up if that should occur.”

Jack wondered about a worse possibility than being lost in the snow. Airships were powered by hydrogen. Every schoolboy knew it was highly combustible. One spark and the entire balloon could explode.

He returned to his cabin and pulled on a large coat. The airship was descending rapidly now. His ears were popping. He went back out into the corridor followed by Mr Doyle. The sun had risen over the hills, but it had begun to lightly snow. The ground grew closer and closer. Finally the airship seemed to hover only a few feet over the surface.

Looking through the window, he saw a metal rope ladder drop from the body of the airship. Men climbed down and started securing the airship to rocky points on the ground.

More men climbed out and onto the snow. Soldiers followed by Mr Griffin and Lucy and Scarlet’s fathers. They trooped off into the snow towards a wide valley. After a few minutes of walking, Jack saw them angle towards a gorge on the east side of the valley. They disappeared out of sight through the crack in the rock face.

Jack felt nervous. The ‘just in case’ comment had made him anxious about what lay ahead. He hated the idea of being stranded here in the snow without the airship to help them escape.

About twenty minutes later Jack heard Scarlet and Lucy clattering down the metal walkway. Scarlet stood next to him, looking through the window into the distance as Lucy moved over to Mr Doyle.

“How long do you think they’ll be?” Lucy asked.

To Jack’s surprise, Lucy had tears in her eyes as she gently laid a hand on Mr Doyle’s shoulder. She had seemed so difficult back at the London metrotower. Now she seemed like a completely different person. Jack realised she was probably terribly worried about her father.

“There, there, my dear,” Mr Doyle said gently. “We’ll know soon enough.” He looked down. “And you’ve hurt yourself.”

Jack looked down. Lucy’s right leg appeared bruised.

She looked down distractedly. “Silly me. I slipped down the steps earlier. I’m not quite myself at the moment.”

“They’re coming back,” Scarlet said.

They turned to the window again. Some of the men were trooping through the lightly falling snow towards them. After what seemed an eternity, Mr Griffin joined them on the viewing platform.

“Looks like nobody’s home,” he said cheerfully. “This was the society’s chief research laboratory. Jon Harker seems to think they may have abandoned the compound for another location. Anyway, you might be interested to see some of the novelties we’ve discovered.”

They all had to wear two types of footwear to go outside. The first was a warm boot that slipped over their normal shoes. The second was an odd looking snowshoe that looked to Jack like a tennis racket. The snowshoes had a hardwood frame with rawhide lacing. Jack immediately tripped over his feet when he tried to stand.

“Easy there,” Mr Doyle said. “They take some getting used to.”

Jack found he was able to clamber about after a few experimental walks up and down the gangway. Looking at his companions, he thought it interesting that once they were all dressed in their woolly overcoats, both the men and the women looked virtually identical. They made their way to the exit and slowly climbed down the ladder to the ground below.

For the first time he saw the other airships that had joined them on their journey. There were at least a dozen of the vessels, hanging above them at various altitudes. A number of them were clearly British, but he could also see a few French ships and a couple of others he did not recognise.

He pointed them out to Mr Doyle.

“Those are the Swiss airships,” he said. “They’re smaller than ours, but very quick and manoeuvrable.”

It was bitterly cold outside the airship, but Jack found the clothing helped enormously. A light breeze danced across the snow. Mr Griffin slowly led them across the valley. They walked in silence. Snow continued to fall lightly around them as they turned into the gorge.

After a few minutes Jack saw a crack in the rock face to the right. They angled towards it. Mr Griffin went first. The narrow crack widened into a tunnel. The mountain closed in around them. Jack was instantly aware of the scuffling sound of their boots.

Hey, he thought. Our tennis shoes are making a racket.

He did not share his joke with the others.

Jack saw a light at the end of the passage. Warm air wafted against his face as they made their way along the dark, narrow corridor. Finally they entered a large room, well lit, clean and bare. A number of snow shoes lay to one side. Obviously these belonged to the other men from the Britannia.

Jack looked up at the ceiling. “What are those lights? They don’t look like –.”

“Gas,” Mr Doyle said. “No. Indeed they don’t. I believe they are operated by an advanced form of electricity.”

“They certainly are,” Mr Griffin said.

Jack stared up at the lights in fascination. A series of balls about three inches across were set into the ceiling at intervals of a foot. They cast an even light across the entire interior of the room, unlike gas lamps which always flickered and jumped. Also, the lighting was far more pure – their gas equivalent always contained a yellow tinge.

“Fascinating,” Scarlet said. “What happens if you touch them?”

“I believe a filament is contained within the globe,” Mr Griffin said. “I imagine they would be rather hot to handle. Anyway, we had best keep moving. There is much more to see than this.”

“Amazing,” Lucy commented.

Mr Griffin gave a short laugh. “This is nothing. Follow me.”

He opened the door and they found themselves on a platform overlooking an enormous cavern almost half a mile across. Larger lights set into the ceiling across the immense cave illuminated the interior. Strange contraptions filled the cavern.

“Alice,” Mr Griffin said. “Welcome to Wonderland.”

There were too many objects for Jack to take in. In addition, he had no idea what most of them were. He saw a helicopter, similar to the one they had travelled in earlier, but this one was larger. A submarine also lay, almost like a discarded toy, against one wall. He knew little about the underwater craft, but this looked larger than anything he had seen in picture books.

One object he did recognise was a small steamer designed for space flight. The space vessel sat at the far end of the interior. A row of cannons studded the side facing them. In front of the steamer three rows of insect like machines stood like silent sentries.

“Incredible,” Mr Doyle said. “Simply incredible.”

“I don’t know where to look,” Scarlet said. “It really is like being in Aladdin’s cave.”

“And this is only one of them,” Mr Griffin said.

“There are others?” Mr Doyle asked.

“At least four others that we can find,” Mr Griffin replied. “As well as a mass of laboratories and testing chambers. It might well take months to fully explore this place. If it weren’t for –.”

A bang emanated from the far end of the cavern.

“That sounded like a shot,” Mr Doyle said.

“Wait here,” Mr Griffin said.

He hurried down the metal stairs to the base of the observation platform. One of the soldiers ran towards him, weaving his way through the mass of strange devices. More shots rang out. The men had an animated conversation for a moment before the soldier turned and ran back towards the other end of the cavern. Mr Griffin hurried back up the stairs.

“It seems we were wrong about the Nazis,” he explained quickly. “They were hidden in one of the far chambers. We need to evacuate you as quickly as possible.”

They made their way back into to the open valley. Jack felt his heart pounding as they tried to race across the open snow. The shoes really were a nuisance. Mr Griffin started signalling to the Britannia while they were still half way across the valley. The airship immediately hung a series of blue and red flags across the top of the balloon.

“They’re warning the other ships,” Mr Griffin said.

They had almost made their way back to the Britannia when the hillside suddenly moved. A tremor vibrated underfoot.

“What was that?” Scarlet asked.

“I have no idea,” Mr Doyle said. “But I don’t think it’s anything good.”

Soldiers were pouring out of the Britannia. A number of airships were slowly descending towards the valley. Jack and the others waited until the soldiers had disembarked before they started ascending the ladder. The ground shuddered under them again and a low rumble emanated around the valley.

Is it an earthquake? Jack wondered. It feels like the entire earth is moving.

They climbed up the ladder, quickly dragged their outer gear off and made their way to the bridge. Captain Bardle was busy giving directions for cast off.

“What’s happening, Captain?” Mr Griffin asked.

“We’re lifting off to make room for the other airships,” the captain explained. “We’ll ascend and exit at the narrow end of the valley.”

The Captain gave orders for lift off and a moment later they felt the ship start to ascend. Another low rumble rang around the valley and they all looked at each other.

“Look!” Scarlet cried.

Standing at the window, she pointed towards the snow covered field below them. The snow was moving upwards as if an earthquake were shaking the entire valley. Here and there, geysers of snow spat into the air as if fired from a gun.

An enormous copper beam, bent in three places, cracked through the snow. Four other girders appeared, attached to a square metal contraption. The beams waved through the air, clenching and unclenching experimentally.

I know what that looks like, Jack thought. But that’s impossible.

“It’s a hand!” he said in amazement.

“Surely not,” the great detective gasped.

No–one could speak. As the airship ascended, they looked down at the valley below. Another hand broke the surface. A head – a huge spherical box angled to a narrow chin – burst through the snow. Two glowing eyes looked out from the head. A ridge of metal encompassed the top of the head like a halo.

The giant slowly climbed from the landscape, shaking snow off itself as it stood up in the middle of the valley.

“It’s enormous,” Scarlet said, open mouthed.

“At least a hundred feet tall,” Mr Doyle said. “Possibly larger.”

The metal monster slowly looked around at the array of airships in the process of descending into the valley. Its metal eyes looked around until it focused on the Britannia.

“It’s spotted us!” Lucy cried.

The Britannia was making its way up the valley as quickly as possible. The metal giant was positioned to its right. It took a step towards the airship, reaching out for the giant balloon. Its hand clumsily tried to grab the ship, but just fell short.

They felt the airship lurch forward.

“We’ve gone to full power,” Mr Doyle commented. “Hopefully, that will be enough to –.”

The metal monster swatted the airship again. Its metal hand slammed against the side of the enormous gondola and glass flew in all directions. Lucy and Scarlet screamed as their group were thrown to the deck. Cold air rushed into the interior of the chamber.

The Britannia lurched from side to side, its ascent suddenly halted. Mr Doyle and Jack helped the girls to their feet. Jack realised they were slowly descending.

“We’re not going up,” he said. “We’re going down.”

Mr Doyle joined him at the shattered window. “It must have burst the balloon. The Captain –.”

The enormous hand swiped at them again. This time they felt it slam into the side of the balloon and they were thrown to the deck. A klaxon alarm rang throughout the ship.

“Prepare for emergency landing,” a voice announced, sounding far more calm than it had any right to. “Emergency landing. Emergency landing.”

Crew men burst past them.

“Oh no,” Scarlet said.

They could see the ground rapidly coming up to meet them.

“Hold onto the railing!” Mr Doyle yelled.

They each grabbed a stabilizer railing running along the side of the corridor. They heard the distant sound of weaponry. The other airships had opened fire on the metal creature.

“We’re coming in too fast!” Mr Doyle cried. “We’re going to –.”

The Britannia slammed into the ground.

Chapter Nineteen

Blackness.

Jack awoke to realise he could see nothing. A piece of cloth moved over his face, smothering him. He pushed hard at it and the material cried out.

“Oh dear!”

Scarlet Bell. The girl lay directly on top of him. She scrambled off him in a hurry.

“My apologies, Jack,” Scarlet said.

Jack’s head hurt, but it was nothing that would not heal. He looked past her to a sight of complete chaos. The airship had crashed, slamming into the snow. The windows next to them were completely broken. Light filled the interior only by virtue of a gap between the top of the snow and the window.

“Apology accepted,” Jack replied. “Mr Doyle!”

Ignatius Doyle lay on the floor a few feet away with Lucy Harker in his arms. They gingerly climbed to their feet.

“I’m alright, Jack,” he said, rubbing his rump. “Landed heavily. That’s all.”

They brushed loose snow off their clothing and Mr Doyle immediately started pulling at the snow around one of the gaps in the window.

“We have to leave the airship immediately,” he said. “It could explode at any time.”

Jack stuck his head into one of the staterooms and found a chair.

“Good man,” Mr Doyle said. “I suggest the ladies go first.”

Lucy Harker climbed onto the chair and stuck her head through the gap. She scrambled through with Scarlet behind. Then Mr Doyle turned to Jack.

“You next, my boy.”

Jack shook his head. “No, Mr Doyle. You are next.”

Mr Doyle looked as if he were about to argue, but instead accepted the firm offer from his protégé.

“As you say, Jack.”

He climbed onto the chair and exited the airship. Jack took one last look around before he climbed onto the chair, through the window and onto the ice. Mr Doyle helped him to his feet. Jack looked around. The airship had been completely destroyed in the attack – it would never fly again. An enormous gash ran along the rigid balloon from one end to the other.

“I can’t smell any gas,” Jack commented.

“It’s impossible to smell hydrogen,” Mr Doyle said. “It is odourless.”

They started across the snow away from the ship. Other crew were rapidly exiting the vessel. Jack saw the captain among them. They started to hurry away from the ship.

The battle between the metal monster and the other airships was in full swing. The other airships that had been ascending into the valley had rapidly risen upon seeing the assault upon the Britannia. They were firing rockets and bullets at the monster from a safe distance. The creature was on fire in a dozen places.

A number of ships were diving over the creature, dropping bombs onto its head. Another ship hovered in an almost stationary position, firing continuous gunfire into the eyes.

The creature continued reaching upwards, but trying to attack the airships was pointless. It was like swatting flies. The creature turned its attention to the downed wreckage of the Britannia. A moment passed as if it were formulating a plan.

It started towards the airship.

“Run!” Mr Doyle cried.

His warning was unnecessary. Everyone scrambled away as quickly as possible as the giant moved towards the airship. Jack found it difficult running through the snow – they had left their snow shoes behind at the wreck – but fear drove him forward.

Something loomed above his head.

He looked up to see an enormous metal foot bearing down in their direction.

Oh no, he thought. The foot’s going to crush Mr Doyle!

He raced towards the detective. The older man looked up as the foot loomed towards him. Jack slammed into the side of the older man, pushing him out of harm’s way as the foot slammed down.

Woomph!

Snow and rock flew in all directions as the mighty foot missed them by inches.

But they were not the target of the monster’s wrath. The appendage lifted again as the creature took another few steps to reach the wreckage of the Britannia.

Ka–boom!

The wreckage burst into flame as the metal creature scooped it up in one of its mighty hands. The heat was so intense that Jack felt the warmth on his back and he scrambled to his feet.

“Quickly!” Mr Doyle yelled. “Over to the rocks!”

He pointed towards a rocky outcrop to their left. All four of them headed towards it. A stony projection provided some cover for them as they scrambled behind it.

Jack looked back towards the metal creature. Airmen from the Britannia were still scrambling away from it like ants fleeing their nest from a human intruder. The metal man held the shattered burning wreckage of the airship in its hand as it slowly turned to face the barrage of airships firing at it. The creature swayed slightly as it regarded the enemy.

It drew back the remains of the Britannia and flung the burning wreckage at one of the airships.

“That’s the Voltaire!” Mr Doyle cried.

An instant later the wreckage struck the airship. Momentarily it clung to the mighty French airship as if the two were engaged in a dance high above the Swiss hills.

Oh no, Jack thought.

No!

The Voltaire burst into flames.

“No!” Scarlet screamed.

The mighty French vessel nosedived towards the ground. It seemed to take forever. Jack felt his stomach turn over as men leapt from the burning wreckage in terror. The heat seemed to scorch his face as the wreckage melted the surrounding snow around them.

Jack swallowed hard. He felt sickened by the terrible carnage. Clenching his fists, he wished he could do something to stop the creature. Something moved in his peripheral vision.

“Look!” he cried.

They all turned as one to see a dark shape moving across the landscape. It was one of the insect machines they had seen in the underground cavern. Jack realised it was a kind of tank. He had seen pictures of tanks in books, but this looked far more advanced than anything he had previously seen. Its six legs slammed into the melting snow as it scuttled across the valley. The body was perfectly circular in design with a rotating turret at the peak.

Jack felt dismay as he pondered how they were all going to survive an assault by another piece of technology developed by the Phoenix Society. The tank came to a sudden halt and the turret swung around.

“It’s not aiming at us,” Mr Doyle said.

“It’s aiming at the metal man!” Jack exclaimed.

The turret pointed at the feet of the metal creature. At the same time the controllers of the metal man seemed to realise the tank was not on their side. It took a single step towards the tank.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Artillery shots slammed into one of the legs of the monster. The creature shuddered. It tried to take a step forward, but its masters did not realise it had been crippled. As its left leg swung forward, its foot remained stuck in the snow, completely severed from the apparatus above it.

As it tried to place its nonexistent foot down, the monster overbalanced and fell face forward into the snow.

The landscape shuddered as if a bomb had exploded. Jack was momentarily thrown to the ground. Snow flew in all directions, blinding him as he struggled to his feet. An enormous plume of snow filled the air.

The creature had to be finished, Jack told himself. It had to –.

On mighty metal hands and knees, the enormous creature crept towards the tank. The turret swivelled again – and fired.

A shot rang out across the valley – and missed. The artillery round slammed into the far wall of the valley. Snow avalanched downwards into an almighty slide down the opposite face.

An enormous explosion hit the back of the creature. And another. The airships above the monster had not been driven back by the destruction of the Voltaire. Instead, they had moved in closer and now started a sustained bombing of the metal giant.

The turret on the tank swung around again. It seemed to wait until the last moment as the creature moved forward again, its metal hand reaching out, now only feet away from the tank. The tank began to fire.

The head of the metal man snapped back as a series of artillery rounds slammed into it. The hand hit the port side legs of the tank and it staggered sideways. The turret swung around almost immediately and fired more rounds into the head of the monster.

Time seemed to stop. The metal face looked at the tank with smoke and fire pouring out of it. Finally the head fell forward and the knees collapsed under the creature. The ground shook as it hit the snow.

The creature did not move.

Yes! Jack punched the air. The monster’s finished!

Jack and the others went wild, yelling and screaming with delight. At the same time, a hatchway on the turret swung upwards and two heads appeared – Mr Harker and Mr Bell. The men started across the snow towards them. Both the women ran at them, throwing themselves into their father’s arms.

Jack and Mr Doyle followed at a more leisurely pace.

Mr Doyle placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I did not get a chance to thank you, my boy.”

Jack looked at him blankly. “What for?”

“For saving my life!” he thundered. “This is getting to be a habit, you know.”

He looked sternly at him, but his eyes twinkled with delight.

The group came together as one. Jack and Mr Doyle slapped the two other men on their backs, congratulating them for their bravery. The girls were ecstatic. They literally jumped for joy, but their celebration was short lived. They started across the slushy snow towards the wreckage of the Voltaire. At the same time, British soldiers poured across the valley in the same direction.

One of the other French airships came in to land some distance away from its wrecked comrade. A Swiss vessel came in behind it.

Within the sound of all the people in the snow and the still burning wreckage of the Voltaire, Jack suddenly noticed another sound reverberating around the valley. He stopped.

“Look!” he cried.

A wide horizontal slot had opened high up in one of the nearby hills as two enormous doors slid sideways. A roaring sound emanated from the interior. They stared upwards breathlessly as the sound grew louder.

An object flew out from the gap like a rocket.

“It’s a mechanised glider,” Mr Doyle said.

“We call it an aeroplane,” Jon Harker replied.

Jack steeled himself for another attack, but the mechanized device flew straight over the valley and out of sight.

“A fixed wing vessel,” Mr Doyle mused. “With an engine. Remarkable.”

“Just one of the many miracles developed by Phoenix,” Mr Bell commented. “Or one of the many atrocities, depending on how one looks at it.”

“Knowledge is a wonderful thing,” Mr Doyle replied. “As long as it is shared and respected. Secrets have too often brought down people, governments and nations.”

“I see that now,” Joseph Bell said.

Jack looked at the man. He looked unwell, as if now he now realised the terrible chain of events the society had brought about.

He regrets what he has done, Jack thought. I pray the Nazis can still be stopped.

“We must return to the bunker,” Mr Harker said. “I hope the aeroplane is the only piece of technology taken by the Nazis.”

Mr Doyle nodded at the remains of the metal giant. “Surely there is nothing more powerful than your metal monster.”

Dismay crept onto Jon Harker’s face. “Gentlemen, this base contains a weapon so powerful, it could spell the end of mankind. I pray it is still here – otherwise it has fallen into the hands of the Nazis.”

Chapter Twenty

Jack, Scarlet and Lucy were assigned medical duties while the men searched the base. Airmen injured by the attack of the metal man were either immediately airlifted to nearby Swiss hospitals or taken to the Phoenix compound to be treated. The girls were used as nurses by a small team of doctors from the airships while Jack was used as a general assistant. He didn’t mind. He found the work interesting and was glad to be of assistance to the injured men.

He had just finished getting a glass of water for one of the men when Mr Doyle appeared at his side.

“Jack,” he said. “We’re just having a meeting in the boardroom. Would you like to join us? There are some things you should hear.”

Mr Doyle looked worried. Jack nodded and followed him into the complex. The underground structure was massive. Jack wanted to ask Mr Doyle questions about it, but the older man looked too lost in thought to talk as they passed through a series of chambers deeper into the mountain. They finally arrived at a circular room with a round table in the centre. A number of people already sat around it. Jack recognised most of them – Scarlet and Lucy and their fathers.

A number of military men were seated in the room. In addition, there was also a thickset man with a serious expression on his face. Jack did not recognise him.

Finally Mr Bell stood and began by introducing Jack, Mr Doyle and the girls to the other men. Then he introduced the newcomers.

“This is Major Gerald Evans from the Navy and General Winston Churchill from the Army. I will begin by telling you all that we face an immense risk, greater even than that of the Great War.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Major Evans remarked.

“Believe it,” Jon Harker said. “The Phoenix society is literally centuries ahead of anything currently being used in the field.”

“What is the nature of this risk?” General Churchill asked.

“Experiments were made a number of years ago to investigate the power of the atom,” Mr Harker began.

“The power of Adam?” Major Evans frowned.

“The atom,” Mr Harker said, rather more firmly. “The basic building block of everything in existence. We have called it an atomic bomb. A mass of fissile material, in this case, uranium, is assembled into a supercritical mass which results in a nuclear chain reaction –.”

“Pardon me,” Major Evans interrupted. “Can I have it in English?”

“In English?” Mr Harker looked slightly annoyed. “Absolutely. A chain reaction is created that causes a massive explosion.”

“How big an explosion?” Winston Churchill asked.

“Two atomic bombs were built by the Phoenix society,” he replied. “Each explosion is the equivalent of approximately 18 kilotons of TNT.”

That’s a lot, Jack thought. A ton is a lot, so eighteen of them is more and a kiloton was a thousand of them so -.

It was massive. Absolutely massive.

Both military men stared at him in disbelief.

“You must be joking,” the General said.

“I wish I were,” Mr Harker said. “We are talking about a blast radius of some two miles. Anything within that zone will be annihilated. People outside that area staring at the explosion will be instantly blinded. After the detonation of the bomb, there is radiation fallout which will kill people within days, weeks or months of the initial explosion.”

“How many people are we talking about?” Mr Doyle asked quietly.

“If exploded over the centre of London, it would kill some one hundred thousand people in the short term and probably the same number again through radiation over the next five years.”

Absolute dead silence filled the room.

“I think it preposterous –.” Major Evans began.

Winston Churchill interrupted. “And you’re saying the Nazis now have control of this weapon?”

“Two of them,” Mr Harker confirmed sadly. “They can be detonated in a number of ways. A timed explosion. Or they can be released from a great height over an area.”

“Winston,” Major Evans turned to the General. “Surely you can’t believe in all this claptrap about a super weapon.”

“We can’t afford not to,” Winston Churchill said. “And after seeing the weaponry assembled within this compound and the metal giant lying on the ice outside, I think we need to prepare for the worst.”

“But we don’t know where these bombs are located,” the Major pointed out.

“As a matter of fact,” Joseph Bell said. “We do.”

Everyone looked at him.

“A tracking device is attached to the weapons,” he said. “We have been able to verify their location.”

“Then where are they, man?” General Churchill demanded gruffly.

“The German metrotower,” Mr Harker said.

Mr Bell started. “But surely the German government –.”

“Much has changed in the last twenty–four hours,” General Churchill interrupted. “A coup was staged in the German parliament, resulting in the deaths of the chancellor and most of the party leaders. The Nazis are now in command.”

“And their leader is this man, Drexler?” Mr Doyle asked.

“Indeed,” the General confirmed. He lit a cigar and started puffing on it furiously. He strode over to the map of Europe and examined it. Finally he turned to the others in the room.

“We stand on the verge of disaster,” he said. “To halt this terrible calamity we must take up arms against the Nazis before they can use these terrible weapons, these atomic bombs.” He turned to Joseph Bell. “Can you disarm the devices?”

“Both myself and Mr Harker can disarm them,” Mr Bell confirmed.

“Then we’ll need both of you,” Churchill said.

“And us,” Scarlet interrupted.

“Yes,” Jack said. “Count me in.”

“And myself,” Mr Doyle said.

Lucy looked around the room. “Anywhere my father goes, I go.”

“My friends,” Winston Churchill said gently. “This is not the place for young ladies or boys or,” he looked to Mr Doyle, “even famous detectives.”

Scarlet stood up and placed her hands on the table. “If it weren’t for Lucy and myself and Jack and Mr Doyle, none of us would be here. And no–one would be any the wiser as to the terrible crisis we are now facing. We are a team and we will remain a team.

“England is in danger and it is the responsibility of every man, woman and child to defend our country with every fibre of our beings.”

Jack thought she probably looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her before.

“I cannot argue with your patriotism.” General Churchill slowly nodded. “Our next stop will be the French metrotower. The French have given us permission to use their facilities during this crisis. You may travel with us that far, but I cannot allow you to go any further. That would be endangering your lives for nought.”

“Alright,” Scarlet nodded. “The French metrotower it is.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The airship rolled slightly as it came into dock at the metrotower. Jack could see little difference between this structure and its London counterpart. The windows looked slightly smaller and some bronze gargoyles decorated some of the cross beams, but apart from these small differences, the buildings were almost identical.

This time they were coming in to land at a point much higher up the tower. Standing next to Scarlet on the observation deck, Jack felt both trepidation and a sense of disappointment. It seemed their adventure was coming to an end. Soon Mr Bell and Mr Harker would depart for the metrotower, leaving the rest of them behind.

The airship jarred slightly as it connected to the tower.

“Looks like we’re here,” Scarlet said.

“Looks like it,” Jack replied.

Scarlet turned to him. “Jack, there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

“What’s that, Scarlet?” Jack asked.

“I think you’re one of the bravest young men I’ve ever known,” she said. “I saw the way you saved Mr Doyle. He would have died out there on the snow without you. He is a great detective, but he’s not invincible. He still needs someone to look after him.”

“You make me sound like a nurse,” Jack said, smiling.

“Well, if you are, you’re the best around,” Scarlet said. “I don’t think he has any family, does he?”

“His son was killed in the war.”

“I suppose you’re like a son to him now.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would,” Scarlet said.

A bell sounded. “Looks like we’re disembarking,” Scarlet said. “From here there’s only one direction.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Up,” she explained.

They joined Mr Doyle, and the others in the disembarking lounge. With General Churchill in the lead, they wound their way through the structure to the elevators. Jack looked around in wonder. Everywhere he peered, he saw French words. Within every corridor he heard people speaking the French tongue. He had travelled to France with the circus when he was very young, but remembered little of the country or its people.

French troops were assembled in close knit groups throughout the halls. Many of the men were smoking. Occasionally Jack heard them break into nervous laughter. They all looked kitted out with guns, bayonets and hand grenades.

“They look like they’re ready for a full scale invasion,” Jack said.

“They are,” Mr Doyle said. “French and British troops are gathering at the border. Mr Bell and Mr Harker will be boarding the French ship, the Joan of Arc, with a huge complement of military men and making their way to the German metrotower.”

“Are they just going to attack the tower?”

“They are giving the Nazis an ultimatum. Either they hand over the atomics weapons or it’s war.”

“I hope they give them up.”

“So do I,” Mr Doyle said. “So do I.”

They wound their way around elevator shafts until they arrived at a large shaft close to the centre. Sets of boots lay on racks to one side. Major Evans picked up a pair.

“Everyone has to boot up,” he explained. “These boots are magnetic, thus enabling you to walk about safely at the top of the tower.”

Jack checked through the boots until he found a pair that looked like they would fit. He lifted them. They were heavier than a conventional pair. He imagined the extra weight lay in the magnets set into the soles. Putting them on, he took a few experimental steps. They were difficult to wander about in.

“You’ll get used to them once we’re upstairs,” Major Evans said. “After a few hours you won’t notice the difference.”

General Churchill led them into the elevator. They plodded after him across the floor, making a racket as they went. Stumbling inside, Jack noticed the French elevator had four rows of railings set across the middle. The General took a position next to Jack.

“We must all hang onto the railings during the ascent,” General Churchill informed them. “It can be a bumpy ride.”

Everyone climbed in. Jack heard a distant clanking sound and the lift shuddered. It started to ascend.

“We now climb several miles,” General Churchill said to Jack. “It’s quite a distance.”

“It sounds like it, sir,” he said politely. “Have you been up this tower before?”

“A few times,” the General replied. “I was invited here when the tower was first built after the war.” He leaned closer to Jack. “I understand you’ve had quite a few adventures with Mr Doyle.”

“A few,” he admitted.

“We can use men like you in the army,” the General said. “Young, strong, fit chaps with brave hearts.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Jack said diplomatically.

The lift continued to ascend. The journey seemed to take forever. After a while Jack closed his eyes and focused on the continual clanking as it lifted higher and higher.

He wondered how far up they were now. Many miles, he imagined. Ascending to great altitudes had never frightened him; he had lived at great heights for years with his parents. He had lost his fear of heights as a young child. Only after losing that fear was it possible to focus on jumping and flying without a fear of falling.

He hoped he would not fall from here, he thought. It was a long way to fall.

The lift jarred. He snapped open his eyes. The General looked up at an indicator above the door.

“We’re almost there,” he announced. “Just another minute or two.”

Jack stifled a yawn. He wondered if he had been asleep for the last few minutes. He felt like it. He looked over to Mr Doyle. The great detective looked tired as well. The last few days had been exhausting – for anyone. Let alone an older man like Mr Doyle. He really did very well for his age.

The lift slowly shuddered to a halt. They all looked at each other for a moment until the door slowly slid open.

“We have arrived,” General Churchill announced.

They exited the lift and clopped into an open area with tables and chairs. Some people were sitting around drinking tea. A maid carried a tray over to them, taking stiff steps across the room. Jack realised he was now walking in the same manner.

Windows looked out onto the earth beneath them. The tower arced away, disappearing into clouds miles below them. Entire continents and oceans spanned across the surface of the globe like an enormous map. Jack wanted to stay and look out. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but the General urged them onwards away from the windows.

“Must keep moving,” he said gruffly.

They walked down another passage. People were everywhere. A group of nurses walked past with a determined expression on their faces. Soldiers stood around in groups, smoking and chatting. A woman handed out food and refreshments to waiting people.

“The steamers are still boarding,” Major Evans explained. “There’s quite a backlog.”

“How many ships are there?” Jack asked.

“Three French and four British ships,” he said. “The Nazis will have to listen to reason, else they’ll have a full scale war on their hands.”

Jack nodded grimly. They moved down the corridor into an enormous waiting area. It reminded Jack of the departure lounge for a sea going vessel. Hundreds of people stood around. Some of them looked at their watches. Others nervously drank tea and looked out at the view.

As they drew closer to the windows, Jack saw one of the steamers outside. The vessel looked like an enormous battleship. Made from bronze coloured metals, thousands of rivets covered the hull. Scores of portals decorated the side. The bridge looked like a big square cap positioned at the top of the ship. Square panels dotted the side at regular intervals.

“That’s the Joan of Arc,” Major Evans said. “It’s one of the largest ships in the French navy.”

“What are the panels on the side?” Jack asked.

“Those are the cannons,” Major Evans replied. “Three decks of them. Twenty–one on each deck. A steam ship can fire all sixty–three at once.” He leaned closer to Jack. “Our British steamers are rather larger. The Nelson has four decks of cannons. A total of one hundred in all.”

“What about the Germans?” Jack asked. “Don’t they have steamers too?”

The Major pursed his lips. “They do, my boy.”

He said nothing more after that.

They followed the General to one of the docking bays. A long deck jutted out from the tower towards the French ship. Jack felt a little awkward. They had come all this way to say goodbye to Mr Harker and Mr Bell. Both the men were headed off on a potentially dangerous mission and might never return. Both the girls tenderly kissed them on the cheeks. Scarlet dabbed at her eyes. Jack and Ignatius Doyle shook hands and wished the men good luck. The men gave a final wave and exited through the departure doors.

They stood about in a group looking at each other for a moment with nothing to say. Both Scarlet and Lucy looked upset about leaving their fathers. Jack tried to think of something comforting to say, but nothing sprang to mind. Mr Doyle looked out at the airship thoughtfully.

“Time to go,” General Churchill declared. “And time for all of you to head off to the safety of home.” He held out a hand to Mr Doyle. “Well done, Ignatius. We would never have come this far without you.”

As Mr Doyle shook his hand, he nodded to Jack. “You must thank Jack as well. He risked life and limb to get us this far.”

The General gravely shook Jack’s hand. “Don’t forget what I said about soldiering. It’s a wonderful life and we need brave men such as yourself.”

“I won’t forget,” Jack promised.

“I suppose –.”

The General stopped as the entire tower shuddered. An alarm started to ring.

“Wait here,” he ordered.

He hurried through the anxious crowd and spoke to a military man standing at a desk. They had a swift conversation before the General sped back to their group.

“There’s been an attack,” he said. “The Nazis have crashed the aeroplane into the side of the tower. We are now in danger of collapsing, so the entire structure is being evacuated.”

“Will we be able to get down?” Mr Doyle asked.

“We’re not going down,” the General replied. “We’re leaving on the steamer.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Five minutes later Jack found himself squeezed into a cabin with Scarlet and Lucy. Ignatius Doyle had gone with the General and Major Evans to evaluate the situation. Jack squeezed his face to the window. All he could see was an endless line of people steaming down the covered gangway to board the ship.

Lucy clenched her hands with frustration. “They have no right to keep us locked up in here.”

“I suppose they are still trying to get everyone aboard,” Scarlet said.

“How can they?” Lucy asked. “There are thousands of people inside the tower. They can’t hope to get everyone onto a few steamers.”

Mr Doyle entered the room. “We should be departing in the next few minutes.”

“What about all the people on the station?” Lucy asked.

“The aeroplane has caused some damage, but it appears the tower is not about to fall,” he said. “As a precaution, everyone under the point of impact is being evacuated downwards. Everyone above that deck is slowly moving to the top.”

“Why did the Germans attack the tower?” Jack asked.

Mr Doyle gave him a nod of approval. “That’s a good question, my boy.” He sat down on one of the bunks. “We believe it was actually an attack on Mr Bell and Mr Harker.”

“Because they know how to defuse the bombs?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.”

“So where is the Joan of Arc heading?” Scarlet asked.

“Unfortunately,” Mr Doyle said, “we’re going into battle. We are attacking the German tower immediately. At the same time, a coalition of countries are making a ground assault into Germany.”

“What countries?” Jack asked.

“All our allies have become involved,” Mr Doyle explained. “The Prime Minister personally rang several world leaders to ask them for assistance. As a result we have troops from Spain, France, Holland and Russia. Even Australia is sending troops.”

It’s war, Jack thought. How horrible.

“What does Germany make of all this?” Lucy asked.

“The troops are not attacking, unless they are provoked. There is still an enormous amount of confusion regarding the coup,” Mr Doyle explained. “Most of the German people are outraged that the Nazis have taken control without elections. Many of their troops are refusing to fight. Others have taken to fighting each other.

“As a result, our coalition forces are making straight for the base of the German metrotower, mostly without opposition.”

“So our job is to attack the top while the land troops attack the base,” Jack said.

“Very astute,” Mr Doyle congratulated him. “The military men are hoping to catch the Germans in a pincer movement and seize the weapons.”

A bell sounded across the ship.

“It sounds like we’re departing,” Mr Doyle said.

Jack went to the window. “There’s still a line of people waiting.”

“Other ships are lined up to take on passengers,” Mr Doyle said.

Jack looked to his left. Mr Doyle was correct. A line of steamers had assembled to evacuate the French Tower. Jack felt terrible that the French had already suffered so much to assist them.

“And this is all because of those bombs,” Jack said. “What a lot of bother over a couple of weapons.”

“Those weapons mean power,” Lucy said. “Absolute power.”

“Well you know what they say about absolute power,” Mr Doyle said. “It corrupts absolutely.”

Another bell rang across the ship. Jack looked out the window. It appeared the top of the tower was moving away from them, but of course they were moving away from it. After a moment he could see the entire tower poking into space. It arrowed down towards the planet until it looked like a single metal beam arcing towards earth.

About half way down he saw a smudge on the edge of the beam.

“I can see where the plane hit,” he said excitedly.

The others grouped about the small window.

“It seems strange the Nazis should sacrifice their own people to attack the tower,” Scarlet said.

“Many of the Nazis are fanatics,” Mr Doyle said. “Such people are often without fear.”

“I don’t care how fearless they are,” Scarlet said angrily. “They have killed innocent people.”

No–one argued with her.

Another bell chimed across the ship.

“What now?” Mr Doyle asked. He opened the door to the corridor and grabbed a passing sailor. “What’s the meaning of that alarm?”

“That’s general quarters,” the sailor explained hurriedly. “It means we’re about to attack.”

“Already?” Mr Doyle asked, astonished.

The sailor continued down the corridor, speaking over his shoulder. “The German steamer Bismarck is on its way. It’s brought the war to us.”

The man disappeared out of sight. Mr Doyle turned to the others grimly. “It looks like all hell is about to break loose. I suggest we make our way to the main lounge.”

They started out of the room. As they headed out, Jack saw a metal plate sliding down over the window.

“They’re closing off all windows,” Mr Doyle explained. “In case of cannon fire.”

Jack and the others headed down a corridor. It led to a set of stairs that they climbed to the upper decks. Two floors up, they turned down another corridor and entered a room with tables and chairs bolted to the floor and an open kitchen at the other end. A number of older people were seated at the tables. An elderly lady clenched a handkerchief tightly. Another older man with a long, flowing beard stood gripping one of the chairs angrily.

“…were not expecting this sort of thing to happen,” he was saying.

“Who are those people?” Jack asked.

“There were a number of visitors aboard the ship when it was called into battle,” Mr Doyle said. “I think a few of them are rather displeased at the turn of events.”

The bearded man went over to one of the galley staff preparing tea at the bench.

“I demand you turn this vessel around immediately,” he said.

They heard the staff member offer his apologies.

“Do you know who I am?” the man asked. “I’m Charles Hogan, the third. I earn more in a day than you do in a year.”

Scarlet pushed past Jack and made her way over to Mr Hogan.

“I understand you’re complaining,” Scarlet said.

“I certainly am,” Hogan replied.

“I’ll have you know there are fighting men and women aboard this ship willing to sacrifice their lives for our country,” she snapped. “And they don’t need complaining old men like you around.”

“How dare you!” Hogan said, his face turning red.

“She dares very much,” Mr Doyle said, joining her. “The young lady is correct. We need to stand together, now more than ever.”

“But I didn’t ask to be in the middle of a battle,” the man protested.

“Neither did our country,” Mr Doyle said firmly. “And yet we are. May I suggest you –.”

A enormous boom rang out.

“What was that?” Hogan asked, looking frightened.

“I believe we have fired on another vessel,” Mr Doyle said.

Another series of shots rang out, one after another. Some of the ladies at their tables covered their ears in terror. Mr Doyle took the elderly Charles Hogan by the arm and led him over to them.

“These ladies need your assistance,” Mr Doyle said. “I suggest you offer them some comfort.”

Mr Hogan sat down next to them, looking shocked and scared. Still, he took the hands of one of the woman and patted her hand. Mr Doyle and Scarlet returned to Jack and Lucy.

“I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he said. “I suggest we take a seat.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a series of thuds from the hull echoed through the vessel. They sat down quickly at another table away from the older group.

“I imagine the Germans are returning fire,” Mr Doyle said.

It’s like being in a tomb, Jack thought.

Once when he was very young he and his parents had gone wandering through an old cemetery. They had happened upon an ancient mausoleum. Someone had broken the lock on the entry door. Out of curiosity, they had walked down the stairs to the crypt below.

There had really been nothing to see as the coffins were actually sealed behind walls, but while they were down there a storm had started. Lightning had flashed, finding its way down the winding staircase as thunder echoed around the damp chamber.

That’s what the cannon fire sounded like now.

The battle continued. It seemed to comprise of a series of bangs as the Joan of Arc fired on the other ship and resounding thud of the other ship’s cannon balls striking the hull. Lucy looked tense. Scarlet clenched her hands tightly. Only Mr Doyle sat up resolutely. He glanced over at Jack.

“We’ll be fine, my boy,” he said. “I’ve been through much worse in the war.”

The ship shuddered from side to side as the battle continued. The globes on the gas lights rocked slightly with the sway of the vessel. A glass smashed in the galley. One of the elderly ladies started to weep.

Suddenly the vessel gave an enormous lurch to one side. One of the elderly ladies fell to the floor. Jack leapt to his feet and hurried over to her as the ship leaned over. He grabbed the ladies arm and helped her back into her seat. Now a number of the women were weeping in terror. Old Mr Hogan’s face had turned pale.

Jack shot a look back to his companions and a moment later Mr Doyle and the girls had joined the long table where the elderly passengers were seated.

“There, there,” Scarlet said, taking the hand of one of the older ladies. “Everything will be fine, I’m sure.”

“It sounds like the ship is falling apart,” an elderly woman with her hair in a bun stammered.

Mr Doyle clenched his jaw and said confidently, “The Joan of Arc is the pride of the French fleet. A masterpiece of construction.”

Almost as if to undermine his words, an explosion emanated from below decks and the entire ship shifted to one side. People screamed. Pots and pans flew across the galley and plates smashed to the floor. One of the elderly ladies started to pray. Half the lights went out in the kitchen. Jack felt a sudden surge of terror as he imagined the Joan of Arc being ripped apart and he and the others spilling into the unforgiving night of space.

Bazookas, he thought, swallowing hard. He looked at Mr Doyle.

The great detective remained resolute. Even in the gloom, he looked strong and brave.

Amazing, Jack thought. Good old Mr Doyle.

A clopping sound rebounded across the floor. Jack spun around to see Major Evans hurrying through the dining room.

“Excuse me, Major,” Mr Doyle said. “Do you require assistance?”

“Ah, Doyle,” the major responded. “Good chap. Yes, the main boiler’s exploded and we need every man available.”

“I’ll come,” Jack responded.

Mr Doyle shot him a look, but did not object. The Major led them along a corridor and down two flights of stairs. The temperature rose dramatically as they passed through a set of doors on the lower level. Jack immediately felt himself covered in a lather of sweat.

Another set of doors led them to the main engine room. The heat hit them like a wave. Jack could not breathe for a few moments. Smoke and steam was everywhere. Someone cried out in pain. A few men lay to one side, burned and unable to move.

Major Evans grabbed a passing engineer.

“Engineer Dubois,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of volunteers. How can they help?”

“We need the injured transported to the infirmary,” the French engineer replied. “That’s up on the next level.”

“You heard the man,” Evans said, turning to Jack and Mr Doyle. “There are stretchers set into the walls.”

Mr Doyle promptly grabbed a stretcher and lay it next to the nearest man. He instructed Jack to grab the man’s feet while he lifted his shoulders. Jack tried not to look at the man. His face was badly burnt and his breathing laboured.

They lifted the stretcher simultaneously and carried him from the room and up to the infirmary. The chamber was filled with injured men, crying out and moaning. Mr Doyle asked a doctor where to place the injured man.

“Wherever you can fit him,” the doctor said and continued working.

Jack and Mr Doyle carried another half a dozen men up to the infirmary. All the while, they heard the constant thudding of cannon fire as the Joan of Arc trading blows with the enemy. Just as they delivered the last man, the ship gave an almighty heave and klaxon alarms rang throughout the vessel.

“That doesn’t sound too healthy,” Mr Doyle said.

General Churchill and a team of officers suddenly came barrelling down the stairs past them. The Englishman quickly introduced Captain Girard and his Commanding Officer DePaul.

“What’s happening?” Mr Doyle asked.

“The bridge has just decompressed,” the General explained. “We’re moving to the auxiliary bridge at the bow.”

Wordlessly, Mr Doyle and Jack joined the group. They found themselves in a small chamber at the front of the vessel in complete darkness. One of the officers activated a lamp and the yellow glow of gaslight filled the chamber. Another officer activated a lever and the wall before them slid across, revealing a view of the stars. They could see the edge of the German vessel. It was listing badly in space, but still firing cannon balls at the Joan of Arc.

“We can’t take much more of this,” Commander DePaul said.

“Bring her around so we’re firing directly into their aft side,” the Captain ordered.

DePaul directed the order into a loudspeaker. A moment later he received a reply.

“The engine room is responding, but she’ll be sluggish,” he said.

“That will –,” the Captain started.

Another explosion, the biggest yet, jarred the ship and every man in the room was thrown sideways except the Captain. He hung onto the console. As the men stood up, First Officer DePaul spoke into the speaker again.

“We just lost half of ‘B’ deck,” he said. “One more hit and we’re done for.”

“The game’s not over yet,” Captain Girard pointed. “Look!”

Another ship filled the viewing screen. Jack saw a flag emblazed on the side.

“It’s one of ours!” Jack cried out. “It’s British!”

“It’s the Darwin!” General Churchill yelled. “That’ll show those Nazi’s who’s in charge!”

The steamer Darwin came about and immediately positioned itself between the Joan of Arc and the German vessel. It was impossible to hear what was happening, but Jack assumed a great battle was in progress.

“Now’s our chance, Captain,” General Churchill said.

“What are you suggesting, monsieur?” Captain Girard asked.

“If we dock with the German metrotower now we may still be able to track down the bombs.”

“My first allegiance is to the safety of this ship,” the Captain said firmly. “Are these weapons so important?”

“I assure you, Captain, they are.” Winston Churchill pursed his lips. “If the Nazis escape with these weapons and unlock their secrets, they will be able to reproduce them ad infinitum.”

Captain Girard slowly nodded. “We will do as you say, but I cannot guarantee the outcome.”

General Churchill nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

The Captain ordered for the Joan of Arc to approach the German metrotower. As the ship drew close, he ordered a small fighter craft to deploy from the rear of the vessel. Jack saw it chug past silently towards the tower. The Joan of Arc slowed. Men scrambled from the fighter and swarmed over the outside of the tower like ants over a nest.

Finally a series of flags were displayed from a space suit clad sailor hanging onto the outside of the tower.

Commander DePaul peered through his binoculars. “That’s our signal, mon capitan. They’ve found an entry point.”

“Bring us in,” Captain Girard commanded.

The Joan of Arc slowly slid into position to dock with the German metrotower. Major Evans entered the bridge and announced he had formed a boarding party that would search for the bombs. He gratefully accepted Mr Doyle and Jack’s offer to accompany the group.

As they made their way to the docking exit, the Major turned to the detective and brought him up to date.

“It seems all is not well within the German ranks,” he said. “There is enormous outrage at the Nazi’s actions. Much of Germany is pushing towards an uprising.”

“Will we encounter very much opposition on the station?” Mr Doyle asked.

“I don’t believe so,” the Major replied. “We need to stay on our guard, but many of the station personnel are surrendering without a fight.”

They arrived at the docking bay. Mr Harker and Mr Bell turned to them in relief.

“Thank God you escaped the French tower,” Mr Bell said. “The good Major would not allow us to check on your wellbeing.”

“We need you gentlemen to defuse the bombs,” the Major said. “We could not endanger you unnecessarily.”

A team of armed French soldiers went ahead of them as they walked down the corridor. Jack could not help but feel nervous as they entered the station. Similar in design to the French metrotower, the main departure area appeared mostly empty. A single man stood behind a café bar as if ready to serve customers. Two women with a large luggage bag sat on a bench, nervously watching the intruders.

“This turn of events has caught everyone by surprise,” the Major said. “Up until yesterday, the tower was operating as normal.”

“Did many leave?” Jack asked.

“It’s hard to say,” the Major said. “I imagine the lower levels were able to evacuate, but there must still be thousands of people in the building.”

“They don’t appear to be on this level,” Mr Doyle said as they entered an empty marketplace.

Mr Bell was fiddling with a square, bronze box with two rabbit ear antennas poking out the top. He shifted it around in a wide arc a few times.

“I’ve found both the devices,” he said. “They appear to be about two levels below us on separate sides of the station.”

By this point they had reached the centre of the station where the lifts were situated. Jack tried to read the writing above the lifts, but could not decipher the strange language.

“We will not use the lifts,” the Major decided. “They could be booby trapped.”

“Or non–operational,” Mr Harker said. “I notice it feels rather cold up here.”

Jack realised Mr Harker was correct. It was quite freezing in the station.

“Probably the steam engines at ground level have stopped operating,” Mr Bell said. “No power, no heat, no elevators.”

They went down a set of stairs with the soldiers in the lead. The stairs led to passageways leading left and right. They only had one device that could lead them to the atomic weapon, so they went to the right.

As they rounded a corner they encountered a group of German soldiers leaning against the walls with their guns at their sides. One of the French soldiers challenged them and the men regarded each other warily. Finally a conversation was had in German where the men concluded by shaking hands.

“The soldiers are not interested in fighting,” one of the French officers named Leroy reported. “They are happy for us to pass.”

Jack felt some trepidation as they passed the men. He could not help but think it would be wiser to remove their weapons. One of the German soldiers gave him a friendly smile and he nodded in return.

Mr Harker walked more quickly as they drew closer to the bomb. Finally they reached a room with large windows on both sides. A small enclosed deck led to a small fighter ship at the end. The men hurried and made their way down the deck to the ship. As they entered the ship, two soldiers led the way and the others remained to defend the docking ramp. Jack followed closely behind Mr Bell and the other men.

The fighter normally had seating for two pilots and a team of eight men in the rear. The seating had been stripped and a long torpedo shaped object sat in the centre.

“That’s it,” Mr Bell said in a hushed voice. “That’s the bomb.”

“That’s one of them,” Mr Harker corrected him.

He knelt down to examine a panel on the side of the device. When he looked up his face had paled.

“My god,” he said. “They’ve done it.”

“Done what?” Churchill asked.

“They’ve armed it,” Harker said. “They’ve set the device to explode. It’s only a matter of minutes before it detonates.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

A stunned silence greeted the news. Jack felt his knees go weak. He was glad the group was huddled together so tightly, otherwise he may have fainted completely.

So this is it, he thought. The short, sharp life of Jack Mason. Here today. Gone tomorrow.

“You can’t be serious,” Major Evans said.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” Mr Harker said. “We need to find the other bomb and evacuate the station. I’ll try to disarm the device.”

“So the Germans want to destroy their own tower,” Jack said, trying to understand, “killing their own people at the same time.”

“The Germans do not,” General Churchill said grimly. “This is the work of those bloody Nazis!”

Mr Harker looked to Mr Bell. “You take the scanner and find the other weapon.”

Mr Bell nodded. “Are you sure you can disarm this device?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “I did some early work in designing this mechanism.”

The group hurried out with Mr Bell in the lead. A number of the soldiers joined them. Two remained at the entrance to the dock as they made their way across the station.

“I imagine the Nazis planned to make off with both the weapons in separate steamers,” Mr Bell said. “When we unexpectedly arrived, they decided it better to detonate the weapons rather than let them fall into our hands.”

As they passed a series of windows they saw a huge battle taking place some miles from the tower. A number of German steamers were involved, but a greater number of allied vessels were trading shots with the enemy. Jack identified a number of French and Swiss vessels. There was one flag he did not recognise.

“Those are the Austrian ships,” Mr Doyle explained.

“Weren’t they on the side of the Germans during the war?” Jack asked.

“True,” Mr Doyle replied. “I think this shows the depth of the divide between the actions of the Nazis and their former allies. I imagine Germany will be in a state of civil war by the end of the week.”

They continued along a corridor with the soldiers leading. Major Evans led the group with Mr Bell, Mr Doyle, Jack and General Churchill behind them. They turned another corner and marched down a long walkway. As they passed another passage, they saw another group of soldiers. These were clad differently than the men guarding the first fighter ship. The men immediately lifted their weapons.

Major Evans yelled something in German, but one of them fired at him. The major threw himself sideways as the others scattered left and right of the entry to the corridor. The soldiers started firing at the Nazis. General Churchill and Mr Doyle drew weapons and joined in the attack.

Jack felt Mr Bell grab his shoulder and drag him away from the action.

“This is no place for either of us,” Mr Bell said.

“But I –.”

“Do not move,” the man commanded.

Jack fumed silently.

I don’t want to be treated like a child, he thought. He might only be a boy, but he had already been though so much he deserved to be part of the fight.

After a moment the soldiers gave the order to advance. Jack and Mr Bell grimly followed them. They passed the dead bodies of three soldiers. Jack looked down at them and felt a queasy feeling in his stomach.

Mr Bell pressed his shoulder. “Are you alright, my boy?”

Jack nodded. Maybe Mr Bell had been right to keep him back.

They came to the end of the passageway. Another skirmish began. One of the French soldiers fell, injured, and General Churchill pulled him to safety. Jack quickly grabbed out a handkerchief and applied pressure to his wound. A moment later a few more French soldiers appeared from behind them. They quickly placed the wounded man on a stretcher and carried him away from the fighting.

At the same time, Jack noticed the fighting had come to an end. The last shot was fired and a group of the men disappeared around the corner, leaving Jack and Mr Bell with a number of the French soldiers. Finally General Churchill returned wearing a grim expression.

“We’ve found the other weapon,” he said.

Wordlessly, they followed him down the corridor to a large, windowless room. The atomic weapon sat in the centre of the room. Mr Bell went over to it immediately. He checked a device on the side. After a moment, he turned to the others with some relief on his face.

“This weapon hasn’t been armed,” he said.

There was an audible sigh of relief from the men in the room.

“We’ll arrange for the immediate transportation of the bomb to a French ship,” General Churchill said. He glanced back at his watch. “We’d best return to the first bomb. I pray Mr Harker has been successful in defusing it.”

They made their way back through the tower. Jack had noticed an insignia on the uniforms of the Nazi soldiers. He asked Mr Doyle about it.

“The modern name of the symbol is swastika, taken from an ancient Sanskrit word svastika” Mr Doyle explained. “It is actually an ancient symbol that dates back to Neolithic man. Many religions have used it over the centuries. The Nazis have appropriated it for their own evil purposes.”

They arrived back in the docking area leading to the first fighter ship. The first thing they saw was two French soldiers on the ground near the entrance to the docking bay. Jack felt a shiver of fear as they approached the men. Mr Doyle knelt by them.

“They’re both dead,” he said. “Stabbed with a thin-bladed knife.”

They looked down the passageway leading to the ship. The vessel had disappeared. Something that looked like a bundle of rags had been deposited at the airlock door. Jack started down the corridor.

“Wait,” Mr Doyle ordered, grabbing Jack’s shoulder.

Mr Doyle stepped into the passageway and slowly made his way down the corridor, his eyes focused on the floor the entire time. He reminded Jack of a hawk. Finally he reached the pile of rags and examined it.

“Oh no,” Jack breathed.

“What is it, young man?” General Churchill asked.

I don’t want to say the words, Jack thought. I can’t.

Mr Doyle slowly made his way back up the corridor with the same care he had used to first traverse it. Finally he arrived back to their position with a grim expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Mr Doyle said. “The bomb has been stolen. Jon Harker is dead and a ransom note has been left. It seems the killer has also kidnapped his daughter, Lucy.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The airship arced across the channel towards England as they approached the white cliffs of Dover. The sun had come out brightly after an early rain and the sky shone blue from one horizon to the other. Jack looked out from the window and let out a long breath.

Dear England, Jack thought. There were times when I doubted I’d ever see you again.

He looked to his companions. Their numbers had been reduced by the death of Mr Harker and Lucy’s disappearance. Major Evans had rejoined the army. Now he found himself with only Mr Doyle, Scarlet and Joseph Bell and General Churchill. The last twenty four hours had seen the crisis of all out war averted, but an even greater drama was unfolding.

“England is being held to ransom,” Mr Doyle said. “And we have to do something about it.” He removed a note from his pocket and laid it flat on the table before them. “This note was pinned to Jon Harker’s chest.”

They peered over the piece of paper. It read:

Ten million pounds in diamonds will be delivered to me at a time and place to be later specified. There will be no tricks. If the diamonds are not delivered as ordered:

1. Lucy Harker will die.

2. One hour later the city of London will be reduced to rubble.

Instructions will follow.

M.

“Who is ‘M’?” General Churchill asked.

“For some time the greatest criminal mind in England has been a man known only as Professor M. He has no name. He has no face,” Mr Doyle said. “Few people have ever seen him, yet his hand has steered countless criminal enterprises over the last ten years.”

“Are you sure he even exists?” Joseph Bell asked.

“His name is spoken of in the criminal underworld in hushed tones,” Mr Doyle said. “He works through others like a puppet master. Others do his dirty work while he pulls the strings. He has been behind the deaths of a score of men. He exists. Believe me. He exists.”

“So how can we track him down?” Scarlet asked.

Mr Doyle pursed his lips. “We have a number of clues. Jack and I will pursue the investigation once we land.”

Jack noticed the airship had begun to swing across the English countryside. The city of London lay ahead.

“Surely you will need all the help you can get,” General Churchill frowned.

“Jack and I can move faster alone,” Mr Doyle said. “And besides, in a crisis such as this it is best to share our knowledge with as few people as possible.”

“Can you at least give us some indication of your line of reasoning?” General Churchill said grumpily. “After all, thousands of lives are at risk if you fail.”

Mr Doyle paused to consider his words. Finally he turned the paper around so they could focus on it. “The writer of this note is right handed. Notice the curves on the upswinging letters. They have gone to great pains to disguise their identity. They could be a man or a woman.

“The writer of this note is well educated and wealthy. The paper is rare. I have done a study of such papers and found there is only one stockist of this paper in Britain. It is sold exclusively through a shop in the East end. The pin used to attach this note to the body was largely unremarkable, barring the tiny speck of blood running along its length. A partial fingerprint is etched into the pin, but there is not enough to be of assistance to us.

“The murderer of the soldiers on board the German metrotower and Mr Harker was of slim build with a height no greater than five feet and six inches. They were also right handed and well versed in the martial arts. In addition, they were on board the Joan of Arc with us on our journey to the tower.”

“Why do you say that?” Mr Bell asked. “Surely the killer could have been a native of the metrotower.”

“There were no signs of a struggle in any of the assaults. The killings happened in a matter of seconds. Judging by how easily the soldiers and Mr Harker were disposed of, I can only assume they either knew the killer or the killer used some subterfuge to gain their trust.”

So, M was on board the Joan of Arc with us, Jack thought. It was a frightening concept that such a callous murderer was rubbing shoulders with him.

“So is M the killer?” Jack asked.

“There is no evidence to suggest M is the killer. Most likely, he is not. Professor M is like a spider at the heart of a web,” Mr Doyle said. “He has a multitude of strands in play at any one time. Many people work for him. It is unlikely he ever does his own dirty work.”

The airship descended towards an airfield. Their landing position was a field close to the heart of London. After landing, the group quickly disembarked and made their way towards two steam cars. A man hurried up to General Churchill and spoke to him briefly.

General Churchill turned to them. “I have been summonsed to The Prime Minister’s residence.” He turned to Scarlet and Mr Bell. “I would ask you both to come with me.”

“Absolutely,” Mr Bell said. “We are at your disposal during this crisis.”

“Jack and I will return to Bee Street,” Mr Doyle said. “From there we will pursue our lead regarding the paper.”

They bade farewell to each other. Jack and Mr Doyle climbed into the other steam car. A few hours later Jack found himself on the pavement in front of Two twenty-one Bee Street. He looked up at the old building. He had only moved here a few days ago from the orphanage, but it seemed a lifetime had passed since then.

“Why have we come back here?” Jack asked. “Wouldn’t it be faster to just go straight to the paper shop?”

“I fear our clothing has become rather soiled over the last few days,” he said. “In addition, I need to pick up a few supplies.”

They made their way up the lift. Gloria greeted them pleasantly at the office door. She threw her arms around Jack, saying how much he had grown in less than a week.

“Assisting Mr Doyle must agree with you,” she said brightly.

Jack changed his clothing and re–entered the rooms to find Mr Doyle had made a cup of tea and toast. He waved Jack towards the food and he went through the mail that had arrived during his absence. Jack suddenly realised he was starving and consumed most of the food before Mr Doyle had finished consuming his first piece. He did not seem to mind, absently trawling through the pile of correspondence.

“Wonderful,” he said. “There is nothing here that requires our urgent attention.”

“So we’ll go to the paper shop now?” Jack asked, glugging down the last of his tea.

“We will indeed.”

A cry suddenly came from beyond their chambers.

“What was that?” Mr Doyle asked, standing.

Before they could move, the door burst open and a huge man entered. He stood over six feet in height, had thinning black hair, an unshaven face and wore workman’s clothing.

Gloria appeared behind him.

“I told him he couldn’t enter, Mr Doyle,” Gloria said, looking furious.

“That’s no problem,” Mr Doyle replied. “Mr Flint will not be staying.”

“How do you know me?” Flint asked, scowling.

“You’re a well known face in the gutters of London. I imagine most of the police force knows your name.”

“I have a message for you,” the man snarled.

“And who is the message from?” Mr Doyle asked.

“You know who it’s from,” Flint said.

“I assume you’re speaking of our friend, and your employer, Professor M?”

“Don’t worry about names.” The man levelled his gaze at Mr Doyle and Jack.

Jack looked back at him coolly, but his heart was pounding in his chest.

“You’re to stay out of this business,” Flint threatened. “You’re to keep your nose out of it if you know what’s good for you.”

“Where I place my nose is my business,” Ignatius Doyle said.

“Noses can be removed,” the man snapped. He turned to glare at Jack. “That kid’s nose would make a pretty bauble on some girl’s necklace.”

Almost quicker than lightning, Mr Doyle strode up to the man and stuck a finger in his face.

“That young man is in my care!”

The man made a grab for Mr Doyle’s hand. The detective countered by grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm behind his back. He delivered a punch to the man’s lower back and frogmarched him from the room.

Bazookas, Jack thought. Mr Doyle can certainly hold his own.

Gloria and Jack followed them as the detective delivered him to the waiting lift.

Gloria dragged open the wire door and Mr Doyle pushed the man inside. The thug went sprawling. He turned around with fear and fury in his eyes.

“You’ll be sorry you did that,” Flint said.

“I already am,” Mr Doyle said. “I dislike germs and I suspect you’re covered in them.”

The man pointed at Mr Doyle. “You’ll keep your nose out of the boss’s business! Or else!”

The detective reached in, pressed the button for the ground floor and pushed the wire door shut.

“Good day, sir,” he said sternly. “Tell your lord and master I will not rest until I see him in jail.”

The lift slowly started to descend.

“Quickly, Jack,” Mr Doyle said quietly. “We haven’t a moment to lose.”

He raced along the corridor with Jack and Gloria in pursuit. They entered the inner office and Mr Doyle quickly pulled the door shut behind them. He started rooting through a nearby box.

“Jack, do you still have your rubber nose?” Mr Doyle asked.

He pulled it from his pocket. “Here it is.”

Mr Doyle quickly applied some spirit gum and jammed the nose over Jack’s real nose. It stuck almost immediately. Next a large black pad appeared in Mr Doyle’s hand.

He jammed the pad into Jack’s face. A cloud of black soot went everywhere. Jack sneezed.

“You’ll find a set of clothing in a draw of your room marked seven B,” Mr Doyle instructed. “Change clothes. We’ll meet back here in sixty seconds.”

As Jack went racing down the hallway, he heard Mr Doyle yell instructions to Gloria. “To your position on the roof, my dear.”

“The telescope?” Gloria yelled, breaking into a sprint.

“Indeed!” Mr Doyle called.

Jack tore into his room, dragged off his clothes and found the drawer marked Seven B. He pulled out the gear. It included torn pants, a stained shirt and jacket, old shoes and a scarf and hat. He dragged the gear on and left his room just in time to see an old tramp racing towards the balcony.

“Quickly, Jack!” he yelled.

It was Ignatius Doyle!

Jack followed him onto the balcony. The great detective looked completely different. He had applied a false nose, a scar and changed his clothing. Even his hands were soiled. They climbed up the ladder to the roof where the Lion’s Mane was moored.

“Gloria! Do you still have him in sight?” Mr Doyle asked.

Gloria was hovering over a telescope looking up the street.

“He’s on foot. Three blocks away, heading East.” She drew back from the telescope. “You’d better hurry.”

Mr Doyle led Jack to the edge of the building. A device that looked like a dumb waiter was attached to the side of the structure. A series of weights and cogs ran down a chute to the side of the device. Mr Doyle climbed into the small compartment.

“Squeeze in, Jack,” he said. “There’s not a lot of room.”

Jack climbed on and Mr Doyle gripped a handle.

“Hang on tightly,” he said.

The lift suddenly shot down the side of the structure. Jack held onto the centre column tightly. About fifteen feet from the bottom, it abruptly slowed and by the time it reached the ground, it settled gently onto the path.

“We’re in a back lane behind the building,” Mr Doyle said. “We need to head up Bee Street as rapidly as possible.”

“We’re going to follow that man?” Jack asked.

“Indeed,” Mr Doyle replied. “With any luck he’ll lead us straight to the professor.”

They raced down the street, dodging around pedestrians and carriages. Jack moved quickly with Mr Doyle struggling to keep up. A large steamtruck drew across the road, blocking their way. With a cry of anguish, Mr Doyle led them around the van and down the street.

“Can you see him, Jack?” Mr Doyle asked.

Jack’s eyes searched the busy road.

Where are you? He thought. Where -?

It took him a moment, but fortunately the man was taller than the rest of the people in the street. Jack sighted him just as he turned the corner at the end.

They hurried down to the corner. Once again they spotted his head bobbing above the others in the crowd. Jack glanced to his left and saw a dirty ragamuffin face peering back at him in the glass.

It took him a moment to realise he was staring at himself!

“I look completely different,” he said in wonder.

“And you were so tidy when I first met you,” Mr Doyle said. “Here we are. He’s heading into a building.”

They moved down the street a little more slowly. The building was a derelict structure with the windows boarded up. A burnt out structure stood next to it.

“What’s he doing in there?” Jack asked as they approached the domicile.

“I have no idea,” Mr Doyle replied.

They mounted the front steps and gently pushed open the front door. A water damaged hallway lay ahead of them. Wallpaper sagged like molten wax. Dust and grey-green mould tainted every surface. Rooms led left and right. Mr Doyle held his finger to his lips.

They slowly made their way down the hall.

Suddenly a door flew open to their left. The hulking form of Flint filled it. Jack felt complete terror as Flint’s eyes swept from him to Mr Doyle.

“Sorry guv’nor,” Mr Doyle said, adopting a low class accent. “We’re just looking for somewhere to stay.”

“Well this place is taken,” Flint snapped.

Jack glanced past him into the room. He caught sight of peeling paint, broken glass and scattered floorboards.

“What’re you looking at?” Flint asked Jack.

“Nuttin,” Jack replied, hoping the man would not recognise his voice.

“Then clear off! The pair of you!” Flint roared.

“Ay guv’nor,” Mr Doyle said, pretending to be afraid and dipping his cap.

They scampered out of the building onto the street. They did not look back as the front door was angrily slammed behind them. Mr Doyle wordlessly led them into the street and to a small park on the other side. They sat down, lounging as if they had nothing better to do with their time.

“What do we do now?” Jack asked breathlessly.

“Now we wait,” Mr Doyle replied.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The afternoon passed slowly.

Whoever thought detective work could be so boring, Jack thought.

He found himself squirming in the seat despite Mr Doyle’s calm urgings that he needed to exercise patience. During the afternoon Mr Doyle made a reconnaissance to the rear of the building to make certain that Flint had no other escape, but he came back reporting the back of the property to be enclosed by a large wall.

The afternoon slid into evening. At one stage Jack asked Mr Doyle exactly what he expected to happen.

“The best case scenario is that Professor M meets Mr Flint. Possibly Flint may even go to a meeting with M, in which case we will follow him.”

Another two hours passed. Airships eased across the sky, their brass gondolas reflecting the last light of day. The streets grew quieter. The few nearby shops closed and the owners pulled their curtains across and departed for the day. A block away the distant sounds of a pub echoed down the empty street. A woman sang out of tune and the crack of broken glass tinkled in the night.

Next time I’m bringing a book, Jack thought dismally. Maybe I -.

A gun shot rang out.

“What on Earth –.” Mr Doyle began.

They warily crossed the street. The area was so deserted that either no–one else had heard the shot or if they had they did not care. Mr Doyle drew his weapon.

“Stay behind me, Jack,” he said.

They made their way up the front steps of the building. Mr Doyle tried the door handle. It opened with a slight creak. They paused in the doorway before starting down the hall. The faint glow of lamplight emanated from under the door of the room that had contained Flint.

Mr Doyle carefully pushed the door open with his gun at the ready. Jack peered inside. A lamp sat on a table, casting a shivering glow across the room. There was no other furniture in the room. The chamber was as dilapidated as it had appeared from his brief glance earlier.

The big difference now was the deceased body of Flint laying face down in the middle of the floor. Mr Doyle quickly crossed to the man and turned him over.

“Dead,” Ignatius Doyle pronounced. “He’s been shot once in the heart.”

Jack glanced nervously behind them.

“Who could have killed him?” Jack asked. “No–one entered the building all afternoon.”

“That’s the mystery,” Mr Doyle said. “Either the assailant was already in the building or –.”

The detective stopped. A pile of timber on the floor lay a small distance away from Flint’s body. Mr Doyle crossed to it. He grabbed the nearest board and pulled on it.

To Jack’s surprise, the board was attached to the others and lifted in one smooth action. The seemingly loose pile of boards were actually attached and formed a trapdoor – set into the floor! A set of stairs led down into the dark. Mr Doyle motioned to Jack.

“Please grab that lamp, Jack,” he said.

In the next instant they started down the stairs with Mr Doyle in the lead and Jack illuminating the interior. At the bottom of the stairs a tunnel led away from them into the distance. A sound echoed faintly towards them.

“They’re getting away!” Mr Doyle exclaimed. “Quickly!”

They raced down the tunnel. Ahead of them they heard the footsteps break into a run. The sound of a metal grate reverberated down the tunnel. A moment later they reached a ladder stretching up above them. Mr Doyle climbed up cautiously and pushed up a trapdoor. He looked around carefully.

“It’s another old house,” he told Jack.

Jack climbed up the ladder and joined him in a derelict room not unlike the one they had just left. A door slammed distantly. They hurried from the room and found a passageway leading to the front door. As they burst through they saw a figure racing across the street away from them.

The person turned around and pointed at them.

“Down!” Mr Doyle grabbed Jack and pushed him to the ground as a pistol cracked and a bullet thudded into the timber over their heads.

They jumped up and gave pursuit. The figure raced down a dark lane towards a better lit thoroughfare. For the first time, Jack was able to get a closer look at their mode of dress. A hat. Long coat. Scarf.

“That’s the person I chased on the train,” Jack gasped as they raced down the alley. “Do you think it’s M?”

“I’m not sure,” Mr Doyle said.

The alley opened into a street occupied by a few pubs, a street vendor selling chestnuts and couples walking out in the early evening.

“M has a habit of killing those closest to him,” Mr Doyle explained, scanning the street. “He leaves no witnesses.”

Jack sighted someone turning a corner at the end of the street. The distant figure glanced back at them.

“There!” Jack yelled.

They hurried down the street. By the time they reached the corner, the figure was moving away from them at a great pace. At the end, the road angled upwards over a bridge crossing another thoroughfare.

The figure turned again and fired. The bullet zinged off the pavement and away from them. As they started onto the bridge they saw the man point the gun at them – but nothing happened.

“He’s out of bullets,” Mr Doyle puffed. The detective was sweating and breathless in the cool night air.

They continued onto the bridge, but this time the killer did not run away. Instead, he examined the road beneath the bridge, shot another look at them and raced across to the opposite side.

No! Jack thought. That’s barmy!

“He’s going to jump!” he cried.

The man leapt onto the hand railing, balanced on it momentarily and fell, disappearing from sight. Jack and Mr Doyle raced over to the side. A steamtruck had passed beneath the bridge. A figure lay spread-eagled on the roof. The man turned and stared back at them until the vehicle turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

“Damnation,” Mr Doyle shook his head, then gripped his leg, wincing. “If I were twenty years younger I may have caught him.”

“I don’t think anyone could have caught up with him,” Jack said. “That jump was one in a million.”

“True,” Mr Doyle agreed. “Regardless, we’ve lost our best lead at the moment and we’re no closer to finding the bomb.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jack rose the next morning, washed and dressed and found Mr Doyle eating jam and toast with Gloria Scott.

“Good morning, Jack,” Mr Doyle said.

“Hello Jack,” Gloria smiled. “I trust you’re rested after your adventures last night?”

“Rested?” Jack asked. “I slept like the dead, if that’s what you mean.”

“A note arrived early,” Mr Doyle said. “We must attend the Prime Ministers residence this morning.”

“The Prime Minister…,” Jack’s voice trailed off. “The Prime Minister of what?”

“England, Jack” Mr Doyle frowned. “There’s only one.” He scoffed down a piece of toast. “It seems they have received Professor M’s demands.”

They quickly finished their meal and hailed a steam cab to take them to the centre of London. The day had turned cold again. Fog shifted among the vehicles on the road as their carriage shunted through the streets till it reached Downing Street.

They climbed from the cab. A number of constables strategically guarded the street. Jack imagined even some of the curious onlookers who waited to catch a glimpse of the Prime Minister were probably security guards in disguise.

Mr Doyle introduced himself at the front door. He and Jack stepped inside and were quickly frisked by two security agents. Finally a butler led them down a corridor. A moment later they were ushered into a room. Jack recognised the three inhabitants of the room – General Churchill, Thomas Griffin from MI5 and the Prime Minister, Horatio Kitchener.

“Hello, Jack,” Mr Griffin said amiably. “Hello Ignatius.”

“May I introduce you to the Prime Minister,” General Churchill announced.

Jack felt slightly nervous shaking the hand of the man in charge of England, but Mr Doyle appeared at ease.

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” the Prime Minister said. “You can appreciate the level of this crisis.”

“We can indeed,” Mr Doyle said. “I understand you have received a communication from M?”

Mr Kitchener opened a folder and placed a letter and large envelope on the desk. Mr Doyle donned a pair of gloves and examined the pieces of paper.

After a moment, he laid down the note and nodded. “Indeed, this is the same letter writer as the original note. How was this delivered to you?”

“A boy was given five shillings to deliver it,” General Churchill said. “Apparently he was approached on the street by a stranger.”

“And a description of the man?”

“Medium height. Slim build. He wore a hat, coat and scarf.”

Mr Doyle and Jack looked at each other. “It’s the same man,” Jack said.

“Apparently,” Mr Doyle commented. “Now we should refer to the actual contents of the note.” His eyes narrowed as he read the page, then anger blazed in them. “This is outrageous.”

“What is it?” Jack asked.

Mr Doyle shot him a look, but did not reply. He turned to General Churchill. “We cannot allow this to happen.”

“I don’t believe we have any choice,” General Churchill said carefully.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked, now a little frightened.

Mr Doyle wordlessly nodded to the letter. Jack moved closer to the desk and examined the letter. It said:

Mr Prime Minister

By now your scientists have evaluated the power of the atomic weapon found at the French metrotower. I’m sure it pains you to realise that I have an identical device and I am prepared to use it unless you follow my instructions to the letter.

You will arrange the payment of the diamonds. They will be delivered to me at the statue next to the bridge overlooking Kings Cross station at midday today. After I receive the diamonds, I will release Lucy Harker and the bomb into your care.

If you do not deliver the diamonds to me, I will destroy London at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.

If you attempt to capture me or not pay the ransom, I will destroy London.

If you do not follow my instructions to the letter, I will destroy London.

But it was the next words that made Jack’s mouth fall open.

You will send Jack Mason with the diamonds.

Once again, if my demands are not followed to the letter, I will reduce London to a landscape of burning cinders.

.M.

Jack re-read the message twice before he looked up at the three pairs of eyes staring down at him.

“It looks like I’m to be a delivery boy,” he said.

Mr Doyle shook his head. “This is too dangerous…too dangerous…” His voice trailed off.

“There’s no other way around it,” Mr Griffin said. “And we will watch Jack’s every move. There is no moment when he will be out of our sight.”

“Still…” Mr Doyle looked concerned.

“I understand your concern,” General Churchill said. “Believe me, I would never use a child to deal with a monster like M if I had a choice –.”

“But we do not have a choice,” Horatio Kitchener interrupted. “The lives of many thousands of people are at stake.”

“I will be fine,” Jack said firmly.

“Of course you will,” Mr Griffin said.

“Your safety is our number one priority,” General Churchill said.

“I don’t suppose,” Ignatius Doyle said, “it has occurred to anyone that there is more to this request than meets the eye?”

The men did not respond.

“Professor M has chosen a highly visible place for this exchange to occur,” Mr Doyle said. “He has no intention of being caught, so why has he chosen this location? And there is no guarantee he will actually release the bomb to us – if the bomb is even in England.”

“Do you think it is still on the continent?” Thomas Griffin asked.

“Isn’t it true that from the moment this crisis began, every airship port and shipping terminal across England was closed?” Mr Doyle asked. “You have effectively made England a fortress. Nothing in. Nothing out.”

General Churchill shook his head. “All it would take is one ship to deliver the weapon.”

“Agreed,” Mr Doyle said. “But if no ships are being allowed in –.”

“It would only take one to slip through,” Mr Griffin said firmly. “Do you really want to weigh up the life of one boy against half a million people?”

Mr Doyle said nothing, swallowing.

“I’ll be fine,” Jack said. “We’ve faced far worse danger than this.”

Mr Doyle looked into his face. “It’s just that I won’t be with you –.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I know.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jack was dropped off at a street near to Kings Cross station in a steam car occupied by Mr Doyle and General Churchill.

“Be careful my boy,” Mr Doyle said. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I won’t,” Jack said.

“Good luck, Jack,” General Churchill said. “We’ll be watching your every move.”

With that, their car moved off and another vehicle chugged down the street towards Jack. He peered into the interior. Mr Griffin and another man – a square jawed ape of a man – sat inside. The ape man produced a small pouch and handed it to Jack.

“Place this around your neck,” he said. “And then stuff the bag down the front of your shirt.”

Jack did as instructed.

“Keep your wits about you,” Mr Griffin said.

“I will,” Jack promised.

Their steam car took off down the street, leaving Jack alone on the busy road. He started down the footpath. A few people walked past him – an elderly man, a lady with a dainty umbrella, two children. Jack supposed there were MI5 agents all over the place, but he doubted he would recognise them.

Likewise, he supposed, M probably had accomplices hiding in the wings. Jack shivered. Mr Griffin had given him further instructions. He had to receive explicit instructions as to the location of the bomb. If it appeared the location of the bomb was not to be revealed, then he was not to hand over the diamonds.

If it appeared Jack’s life was in danger, Mr Griffin assured him, MI5 agents would swoop in and save him.

Jack had the statue in sight now. It stood a few feet away to the right of the bottom of the stairs. It suddenly occurred to Jack how ludicrous this whole episode was – men and women going about their daily lives and he was about to meet with a madman to deliver ten million pounds in diamonds in exchange for a doomsday bomb.

His heart began to race a little faster. Only fifty feet to the statue now. Dozens of agents were probably watching his every move. His mouth grew dry as he glanced past the statue and across the street. No sign of the figure dressed in the hat, scarf and coat. He looked up to a clock tower on the other side of the street. Five minutes to twelve.

Jack walked the final few feet to the bottom of the statue.

A bird sailed overhead. A steam car chuffed down the road. An elderly couple slowly crossed the street in the direction of the station. They ascended the steps and disappeared out of sight. A steam truck moved down the road towards Jack. The driver glanced at him. Jack stared back into his face.

The vehicle continued past.

Jack’s heart pounded in his chest.

He felt the compass sitting in his pocket. It was still there. Good.

I don’t know how I’d feel if I lost it, he thought. Probably lost, I imagine.

The clock on the tower chimed. A line of sweat ran down Jack’s face and gathered at the point of his chin. Two boys ran down the road, chasing each other. The clock continued to chime. The boys slowed down as they approached Jack. One of them yelled something rude at him and they sprinted away.

Jack ignored them.

The clock finished chiming. Another trickle of sweat found an avenue down Jack’s face. He let out a long breath. A train pulled into the station behind him. He glanced back and saw a rush of passengers. A whistle tooted and the train started off with a chuff.

He looked long and hard up and down the street. The few people within sight seemed to be ignoring him. Where was M?

“So,” a voice said from behind him. “We meet again.”

Jack turned around. The voice had a raspy quality to it, as if the speaker had smoked too many cigars or enjoyed too many late nights. Behind him the statue stood on a round marble pedestal about three feet high. Beyond it lay a high wrought iron fence. Frowning, Jack rounded the monument. No–one stood behind it or beyond the fence.

“At your feet,” the voice continued, “you will see a small bronze box with an antenna sticking out the top.”

Jack looked down. The box, as described, lay at his feet. A small grill covered the bottom section. A red button jutted out from the top left side.

“Now pick it up,” the voice ordered.

Jack’s mouth fell open. The voice was coming from the box!

He picked the device up with amazement. He had never seen anything like it before.

“To reply to my instructions,” the voice continued, “you must press the button on the left hand side of this device and then release it to listen. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Jack said automatically, then realised the speaker could not hear him. He pressed the button and repeated the word.

“Good. You hold in your hands a radio transmitter. We will be using it to communicate with each other.”

“Who are you?” Jack asked. “To whom am I speaking?”

“You know who I am,” the voice said.

“You are Professor M,” Jack said. “When will the bomb be handed over?”

“When you follow my instructions,” the voice said. “Now, climb the stairs to the train station, buy a ticket for Hackney station, go down to the platform and wait for the twelve–o–five train.”

Jack walked up the steps on shaking legs. He purchased the ticket and waited on the platform for the train to arrive. There were few people on the platform. A train pulled in and the doors slid open. Jack climbed on.

The train was one of the new steam trains. Twice as wide as the older trains, it was divided into first and second class. It seated hundreds of people, but now in the middle of the day few people were aboard. A man boarded the carriage at the far end. He glanced at Jack, but made no indication of recognition. Jack remained standing in the vestibule area and gripped an upright pole as the train started.

Jack felt a surge as the train rapidly accelerated. The next stop was Barnshill Station. The train drew to a halt. A man moved past him into the carriage and took a seat some distance away. The train started again.

“You will depart at the next stop,” the voice said.

Jack glanced up at a train map plastered on the wall. “The next stop is Sabre Field station.”

“You will alight at Sabre Field.”

Three minutes later the train slowly pulled to a halt. The doors opened and Jack got out.

“There is a train departing on platform four,” the voice snapped. “You have one minute to catch it.”

Jack sighted a set of stairs to his left. He ran up the stairs, crossed the overhead bridge and arrived at the steps leading down to the platform. A train had just pulled in.

“Blimey,” Jack muttered under his breath.

The doors were just closing when he made a running jump between them. They sealed shut. Gasping for breath, Jack looked down the carriage. He was not sure if the man from the other train had made the switch. Jack swallowed. In one single move, he may have already lost his protection.

The train started again. Half a dozen stations flew past without any instructions from M. The train pulled into another station – Hammermouth.

The radio crackled. “Change trains,” M instructed. “Platform five.”

Jack raced from the train. He could see a train pulling into the other platform. He took the stairs two at a time and sprinted across the overhead bridge.

“Oof!” He crashed into a man in a suit.

“Sorry!” he yelled.

“Impudent, young –.”

Jack did not hear the rest of it. He raced down the stairs. The guard blew his whistle. He landed badly on a step, twisted his ankle and fell face first down the stairs.

Bazookas! He thought. No!

He rolled down the remaining stairs and jumped to his feet just as the doors started to close.

No!

He staggered across the platform and jammed his body into the closing doors. The train started to pull away from the station. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him into the train.

The elderly man holding his arm looked at him severely. “That’s a foolish thing to do, young man.”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “Thank you, sir.”

Jack stumbled into the carriage, his heart pounding. When he was half way down the aisle, the radio crackled again. A seated man looked at him strangely and Jack continued to the far end where no passengers were seated.

“Jack Mason,” the voice rasped. “Get off at the next stop.”

“I barely made this train,” Jack protested. “I can’t keep jumping from train to train.”

“You have almost reached your destination,” the voice continued. “Disembark at the next station. Take the stairs to the South side. Take the next steam bus to the end of the line.”

Jack’s heart slowed as the train continued along the line to the next station. It was a stop called Bigglesworth. The doors slid open and Jack stepped out. He wearily climbed the stairs. Sweat drenched his back. The day had grown warmer and his physical exertions had pushed him to the limit. Crossing to the South side of the station, he saw a bus chuffing down the road towards him.

He paid money to the conductor and took a seat near the exit. Jack wondered if M could be the bus driver, then dismissed the idea as ridiculous. The bus stopped three more times until it reached the end. Finally the driver turned to Jack.

“Last stop, chappie,” he said.

“Thanks,” Jack said.

A row of houses lined one side of the road. Jack climbed from the bus and saw a river on the other side bordered by shrubbery. The waterway was about thirty feet across. A small barking dog ran circles in a front yard a few feet away. A formation of ducks drifted down the river.

The radio crackled again. “Walk to the centre of the bridge.”

Jack saw an old stone bridge further up the bank. He approached it with a feeling of dread. He had been promised he would be followed every step of the way. They had told him he would be safe. Nothing could be further from the truth. Whatever MI5 agents had been following him had been lost somewhere on the other side of London.

He was on his own.

His whole body shook with fear as he walked along the riverbank. Somehow he had to negotiate with someone who had the lives of half a million people in his hands. He had to deal face to face with the Napoleon of crime.

How had he ended up in this situation?

Jack reached the foot of the bridge and slowly walked to the middle.

He waited.

Looking in both directions, he saw no–one approaching the crossing. A forest lay on the other side of the river. He became aware of the pouch of diamonds next to his chest. They had seemed so light before – now they weighed a ton.

A low humming sound carried across the water towards him – the sound of a steam engine. He looked up and down the river, but could not see a boat. Still, the sound continued and slowly grew louder.

A shadow crossed his face.

Jack glanced up. An airship was coming in to land. The vessel appeared similar to Mr Doyle’s Lion’s Mane, but this ship bore no markings and it looked smaller. The windows of the gondola appeared to be covered in curtains. The vessel slowed until it rested a few feet over the bridge.

A window slid across and the top half of a familiar figure appeared in the gap. The man with the scarf and hat pulled down low over his face leaned over the side. He dropped a basket on a line and it fell, almost hitting Jack in the head.

“Put the diamonds in the basket,” M rasped.

“Where is Lucy Harker?” Jack asked. “And where is the bomb?”

“I will send instructions later,” M replied. “Give me the diamonds first.”

Jack swallowed. “No. I must have Lucy and the bomb before I can give you the diamonds.”

“You impudent child!” M snapped. “I can kill half a million people with the flick of a switch.”

“You’ve given no proof the bomb is even in England,” Jack said. “For all we know it’s still in Europe.”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” Professor M rasped. “Now give me the diamonds.”

“No.”

Jack saw hatred in the man’s eyes. “You dare to speak to me like this?”

“I dare,” Jack felt dizzy with rage and fear. “Now where is Lucy and the bomb?”

Whatever reply M was about to make was stifled by the sound of another steam engine. Both Jack and the professor looked at the same time and saw a small airship arrowing directly towards them.

M let out a cry of rage.

“You fools!” he screamed. “You have just signed your own death warrants!”

M sprang back from the window and Jack stood back, expecting his airship to take off at full speed. Instead, it suddenly began to ascend. Jack leapt back and fell sprawling to the ground as the gondola crashed into the bridge.

A door flew open and the criminal leapt from the interior. Jack jumped up and made a grab for him, but the man spun around with a flying kick. It connected with Jack’s stomach. He let out a gasp of pain as the man moved in with two swift blows to his jaw.

As Jack hit the ground, and before he lost consciousness, he saw M standing over him.

“Tell your masters they have signed Lucy Harker’s death warrant,” he rasped. “Today she will die and at midnight tomorrow so will London.”

Jack’s world turned to darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

An hour later the quiet bridge across the river had become the heart of a massive man hunt. Hundreds of police, MI5 agents and men with tracker dogs were spreading out in all directions to track down M.

“They won’t find him,” Mr Doyle said.

Jack looked up at the great detective. His jaw still hurt from where the professor had struck him. The criminal’s airship had been examined for clues without success. The police had quickly located an old sewerage tunnel that led away from the river to a nearby town. It seemed likely the criminal had used the tunnel as an escape route in case things went badly.

And things had gone very badly indeed.

“Are you sure?” Jack asked.

“I am fairly sure,” Mr Doyle replied. “Professor M has planned this operation to the letter. The only factor in our favour is that he does not already have the bomb.”

“He doesn’t have the bomb?” Jack tried to make sense of the detective’s words.

“No. If the bomb were already in England he would have already detonated it, but he’s given himself time for it to arrive.”

“Maybe he’ll try to get the diamonds again.”

A group of MI5 agents had taken custody of the diamonds from Jack as soon as he had regained consciousness. Jack was glad M had not discovered the gems. Now the stones were back in the hands of the government.

“Unlikely. That plan has failed. Now we must track him down instead.”

“How will we do that?”

“You remember we still have the clue of the paper – the page we found on Jon Harker’s body.”

Jack nodded. He had forgotten about the paper.

Mr Griffin and General Churchill appeared.

“We haven’t found M,” Mr Griffin said. “It looks like he’s given us the slip.”

“The Prime Minister will be making an announcement this evening,” General Churchill said soberly. “He will be ordering a general evacuation of London.”

“And what will you gentlemen do?” Mr Doyle asked.

“We will do our best to find M,” General Churchill said. “We will continue to track him until we find him, or until…”

“Until we no longer can,” Mr Griffin finished.

“Jack and I have a lead to follow,” Mr Doyle said. “We will be in contact with you as soon as we know something.”

The detective turned. The Lion’s Mane was parked on the riverbank about fifty feet away. As Jack followed him, General Churchill cleared his throat.

“Ignatius,” he said. “How do you rate our chances?”

“I believe in human intellect and our capacity for good,” the great detective replied. “Don’t give up hope.”

He turned and they continued towards the airship.

A few minutes later the Lion’s Mane had ascended and was heading towards the East End. The sky ahead was bright and clear. A clot of clouds crested the far horizon. The city of London lay beneath them, the sprawling metropolis covering the landscape like an enormous quilt.

It seemed as quickly as they had risen into the sky, the time arrived to descend. Mr Doyle navigated the ship into a back alley leading off Columbia Road. Disembarking, they steered their way through the crowded East End until they arrived outside a small shop sandwiched between a bakery and bookshop.

The sign above the door said:

DeGroot and Sons Paper Suppliers

A bell above the door jangled as Mr Doyle led them into the shop. The great detective wasted no time as he marched up to the counter. The man staffing the shop looked to be about seventy years of age and about five feet in height. He had thinning grey hair and an angular face that ended in a weak, receding chin.

He peered at them. “Good morning. How may I help you?”

“You are Mr Degroot, I assume,” Mr Doyle said.

“I am.”

“I am Ignatius Doyle. This is my assistant, Jack. We are looking for a customer who purchases paper from your shop.”

“And who might that be?”

“We don’t know their name.” Mr Doyle cast his eye over the shelves and grabbed a piece of paper from one of the shelves. “They would buy this type of paper from you, but in the larger size.”

“Ah, the Cambershire Royal,” Mr Degroot said. “Very good quality. Very good.”

He stood, smiling and nodding. He seemed to have forgotten that Jack and Mr Doyle were in the shop.

“So we would like to know who buys this paper,” Jack intervened. “But in the larger size.”

“We have a number of people who purchase the Cambershire Royal,” the man said. “But not in a larger size, of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?” Mr Doyle asked.

“It is only delivered in this size. Never larger.”

Mr Doyle frowned. “Are you sure? I’m sure my friend who comes here has it in a larger size. Possibly double this size.”

“They would not purchase it from us.”

“Aren’t you the only supplier who carries this brand?”

“We are. It is made by a small company in Somerset and we are their sole supplier.”

“Then how would someone acquire a piece larger than this?”

“They could only get it from the manufacturer,” Mr Degroot said genially.

“Are you sure?” Mr Doyle asked.

Mr Degroot frowned. “I have been in this business for fifty–three years. I may be old, but I know paper. If your friend has pages of Cambershire Royal larger than this, then they purchased it directly from the maker.”

“Would you be able to tell me who they are?” Mr Doyle asked.

The old man smiled. “I’m afraid that would not be good for my business, would it? You might just purchase it from them.”

Mr Doyle slid a ten pound note onto the counter. “Would this improve your business?”

The old man shrugged. “It’s been a slow day.” He wrote an address onto a slip of paper. “They’re located in a town called Moll’s Pond. They’re not hard to find.”

“Thank you,” Jack said.

“A pleasure doing business with you, good sirs.”

Mr Doyle nodded and led Jack back through the door. “This is a stroke of luck.”

“So we’ll go directly to the manufacturer,” Jack said.

“Absolutely.”

They quickly made their way back to the Lion’s Mane and had the airship sailing over the city in a matter of minutes. Jack looked down below at London as the houses became fewer and the fields more numerous. The London metrotower dominated the landscape to the north. At a distance, the world looked very peaceful. He looked down below them. There seemed to be a lot of people on the roads.

“It looks busy down there,” Jack said.

Mr Doyle looked down. “It looks like most people are heading in the same direction.”

“Out of the city?”

“Yes, I believe the Prime Minister has announced the evacuation of London.”

“Shouldn’t everyone be leaving?” Jack looked down at the roads. They were populated, but not congested to the point where traffic jammed every street.

“It will take some time for the news to get around that the city is in danger.”

“And then everyone will evacuate?”

“I believe most people will leave,” Mr Doyle said. “But not everyone will believe such a threat exists.”

“Even if the warning comes from the Prime Minister?”

“Not everyone would believe that such a super weapon could exist.” Mr Doyle looked back at the city grazing the landscape behind them. “Would you believe a single bomb could destroy a city that took thousands of years to build?”

Looking back at the city, Jack slowly shook his head. “I’m sure Mr da Vinci did not intend this to happen.”

“It is a shame the Phoenix Society decided to develop their inventions in secret,” Mr Doyle said. “Knowledge should be shared. Their efforts have truly perverted the natural course of human history.”

Jack looked back at the mighty steam powered city. “I wonder where we would be if the Phoenix Society had never existed.”

Ignatius Doyle nodded. “I wonder.”

I hope we don’t lose London, Jack thought. It’s a beautiful city.

The landscape passed beneath them as Mr Doyle consulted charts. He made a few calculations using a compass and sextant. Finally he aimed the airship towards a small town to the south–east of them. It lay like a scattered bundle of jewellery on the landscape.

Mr Doyle brought the vessel into land outside the town. He tied the ropes of the airship to a fence enclosing a field filled with cows. A passing boy stopped to look in amazement at the vessel.

“What’s your name?” Mr Doyle asked him.

The boy looked no older than eight or nine.

“Toby.”

“Have you ever seen an airship close up before?”

“No.” He stared up in wonder at the balloon. “It’s big!”

“Would you care to make some money, young man?” Mr Doyle asked.

Toby nodded shyly.

“Could you keep an eye on our flying machine?”

Toby nodded vigorously. “Yes, please.”

“A farthing now,” Mr Doyle said. “And a farthing when we return.”

Mr Doyle handed Toby the coin and he and Jack walked the short distance into town. The village of Moll’s Pond was a tiny affair; Jack found it difficult to believe it even rated a mention on the map. Three or four streets cut across the main road. There seemed to be a few small shops – a general store, a baker, a butcher and a pub on the corner. Terrace houses squeezed together in the side streets till they came to an abrupt halt where the roads met farms bordering the town.

Altogether, Jack thought, a quiet little village.

“Do you think M is here?” he asked suddenly. “It seems too quiet for someone like him.”

“You don’t think master criminals live in small towns?” Mr Doyle smiled. “I imagine Moll’s Pond represents only one strand of his empire.”

They walked down a small street towards a house at the far end. A barn and a water mill lay beyond it. As they drew close they could hear the sound of the water and a clanking sound from within the building. Mr Doyle checked his weapon, but left it in his pocket.

“Do you think we’re going to meet up with M?” Jack asked.

“Possibly. Stay behind me for the time being.”

The door to the mill lay open. As they drew closer, Jack realised the racket emanating from the interior was considerable. Three men laboured in different sections of the building. One of them packed paper into boxes. Another cut paper with a huge guillotine. The third, a tall man with fair hair adjusted a small control on the side of the machine in the middle.

The machine was a marvel of complexity. A tub of liquid contained a slurry mixture fed in at one end. Within the machine, the wood pulp was pressed and dried with steamers and smoothed out into sheets that were excreted at the far end.

“It’s a type of Fourdrinier machine,” Mr Doyle explained. “It has a wet end where the pulp enters, the section in the middle where it is pressed, a drier section and a calendar section that completes the process.”

Jack was not so interested in the workings of the device. “Are those M’s men?”

“I’m not sure,” Mr Doyle said. “Let’s find out.”

Mr Doyle waved his hand and the fair headed man lifted his head. He finished what he was doing and crossed to them.

“How can I help you?” the man asked.

“I’m looking for Professor M,” Mr Doyle said. “Is he here?”

Jack almost fell over with shock at the brazen question, but to his relief the man looked at them blankly.

“Never heard of him,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. Don’t know the man.”

“Are you the owner?”

“No, I’m Tom Wilson,” the man said. “I manage the factory.”

“Who is the owner? I was told it was M.”

“This place is owned by Mr Bezel.”

“Can you describe him?”

Wilson shrugged. “An elderly chap. Keeps to himself. Friendly enough. Lives up at the Manor house in Mossley. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve come from London,” Mr Doyle explained. “I run a publishing house. We love your paper.”

“Which one?”

“Which publishing house?”

“No. Which paper?”

“Do you have more than one?”

“We’ve a few types. Depends who we’re supplying.”

“It’s the Cambershire Royal,” Mr Doyle continued.

The man nodded. “Aye, that’s a good paper. Our best. Might be a bit expensive for publishing, though.”

“Could I see a sheet?”

Tom Wilson led them to a nearby bench where large piles of paper were neatly stacked. He pulled a piece off the top of one pile and handed it to Mr Doyle. The detective shot Jack a look. The piece was exactly the same size as the notes from M.

“This is larger than what I’ve normally seen,” Mr Doyle said.

“We cut it before we ship it out,” the man explained.

“Strange, though,” Mr Doyle said, frowning as if puzzled. “We’ve been to DeGroot’s in London, but I’m sure I’ve seen this size of sheet somewhere else.”

“Wouldn’t be ours,” Wilson said. “We only supply to DeGroots.”

“Are you sure? Surely you fellows could take some home if you wanted. I don’t see a lot of security here.”

Tom Wilson’s face turned a brighter shade of red. “What are you accusing me of? Are you saying I’m stealing?”

“Not at all.” Mr Doyle’s eyes examined the other men in the factory. “Now that I think of it, the paper I saw was a little darker. My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

Tom Wilson gave a curt nod. “That’s fine, sir.”

“How do I find the Bezel estate? It’s in Mossley, I believe you said.”

“It is,” Tom Wilson said. “I believe the name on the gate is Featherwick. It’s at the far end of the town. A large house on a big estate surrounded by pine trees. A bit rundown.”

“You’ve never been there?”

“No, the local postman told me about it.”

“Wonderful,” Mr Doyle said. “Thank you for your assistance. I don’t think I can spare the time to see Mr Bezel at the moment. We were just passing through.”

Mr Doyle bade him farewell and they departed. Jack shot a look back towards the building as they made their way down the street. No–one was following them.

“What do you make of all that, Jack?” Mr Doyle asked.

“I don’t think those fellows are involved,” Jack said. “They just seem to be workers in the factory.”

“Agreed. Possibly some pilfering is going on, but if we follow Ockham’s Razor –.”

“Who’s razor?”

“A Franciscan friar, Father William of Ockham, in the fourteenth century said that when selecting competing hypothesis, pick the one with the fewest new assumptions.”

“Uh, Mr Doyle, I think you’re speaking another language.”

The detective smiled. “Another way to think of it is that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

Okay, Jack thought.

“That I understand,” he said. “I think.”

They made their way back to the Lion’s Mane. Toby had fallen asleep at the foot of the suspended airship. Mr Doyle smiled gently and roused the boy.

“Not asleep on the job, I hope?” Mr Doyle said.

“No, sir,” he jumped up.

Mr Doyle handed him a coin. “Thank you for your help, young Toby. If I’m this way again, I’ll use your services again.”

“Ta, sir,” Toby replied.

Jack and Mr Doyle climbed into the airship. A minute later it was airborne and young Toby receded into the distance as they drifted across fields away from Moll’s Pond. Jack gave him a final wave as they became one with the sky.

Mr Doyle spent a few minutes checking their direction. Finally he drew back from his instruments. “Should be there shortly. I intend to land slightly east of the town.”

“Is that so M doesn’t know we’re on our way?”

“More or less.” Mr Doyle sat back in his seat thinking before he crossed to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I’d like your thoughts on this, Jack.”

Jack Mason examined the piece of paper before him. It showed a copy of a bloody handprint. Jack asked Mr Doyle how he came across it.

“I found this at the crime scene where Jon Harker and the soldiers were killed.”

“So this is the killer’s handprint?”

“I believe so,” Mr Doyle said. “It’s a small hand, isn’t it?”

Jack nodded. “M looked like a small man.”

“What do you make of this?” Mr Doyle asked, pointing at a few compacted lines running across one of the fingers.

After puzzling over it for a moment, Jack shook his head. “I’m not sure. Is it a scar?”

“Possibly,” Mr Doyle said. “Possibly.”

At that moment he went over to the steering wheel. The ship coasted over a large field before the Lion’s Mane descended. Mr Doyle brought the airship in to land among a stand of trees. They made their way across the field. Climbing over a fence they joined a lane that followed the edge of the town around to the north.

Thick pine trees bordered a large property half a mile out of town. A rusted metal gate, set into sandstone posts, closed off the access road from the lane. The name Featherwick appeared faintly on brass plaques on both sides of the iron gates. Elm trees bordered the boulevard on both sides. Mr Doyle studied the terrain.

“We will climb over here,” he said.

“What if someone’s home?” Jack asked.

“I don’t believe anyone is,” Mr Doyle said. “Look here.”

He pointed at the earth road.

“What is it?” Jack asked. “I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly,” Mr Doyle said. “It last rained here in this part of the country two days ago and there are no tracks leading into the estate.”

“Of course,” Jack said.

I’m a dummy, he thought. He felt like kicking himself. How did he fail to notice such things?

“Don’t feel badly my boy,” Mr Doyle said. “First we learn to see. Then we learn to observe.”

They climbed over the fence and walked down the narrow road. A bullfinch sang somewhere in the undergrowth. The sun lay quite low in the sky and the first chill of night seemed to grip the air. Jack listened for sounds of movement from around the estate, but heard nothing.

They reached the end of the boulevard. The road curved around to an old manor house, bordered on both sides by huge elm trees. A few of the windows looked broken.

“We’d best knock on the door,” Mr Doyle said.

He gripped the door handle and banged it three times. A minute passed where no sound emanated from the interior. He knocked again and the house still remained in silence.

“Let’s go around the back,” Mr Doyle suggested.

They rounded the house. Jack saw more of the windows were cracked. Air freely entered through a broken pane on the first floor. The building appeared deserted.

“Doesn’t look like Professor M’s a very good housekeeper,” Jack said.

“Too busy being a criminal, I imagine.”

Reaching the rear door, Mr Doyle gripped the handle. It did not budge. They looked through the window to the right of the door and saw a dusty kitchen.

“We really need to look inside,” Mr Doyle said. “Do you have your lock pick with you?” Jack produced it from his pocket. “I’ll teach you later how to operate this device. It’s really very clever.”

Mr Doyle inserted the tool into the lock and gently swivelled it around. After a moment, he withdrew the implement, frowning.

“Now that’s odd,” he said.

“You can’t open it?” Jack asked.

“I cannot. And this device will open most locks. I think there’s more to this building than meets the eye.”

He stepped back from the building, examining the windows. They walked the entire circumference of the building, tried to unlock the front door without success and arrived back where they started. All the downstairs windows were barred with a sliding lock.

“I’d prefer not to break one of the windows,” Mr Doyle said.

“We won’t need to,” Jack replied.

Without another word, he crossed to a vine trailing up the side of the building. He jammed a foot into the hardy growth and ascended the structure. When he reached the first floor, he reached through a broken pane and unlatched the window. He pushed it upwards.

“Be careful,” Mr Doyle called.

“I will,” he promised.

He placed his knee on the sill, gripped the window and pulled himself into the room. It took a moment for his eyes to acclimatise to the gloom of the interior. Gradually he became aware of walls covered with ivory coloured wallpaper, an ornately decorated ceiling and a disused fireplace. The room was large and dry with no furniture.

He left it and cautiously made his way down the stairs. No sound originated from any other rooms within the building. Arriving at the back door, he opened it to see the relieved face of Ignatius Doyle.

“This might be Mr Bezel’s home,” Jack said. “But one thing’s for sure.”

“What’s that?” Mr Doyle asked.

“No–one lives here.”

They examined the house from top to bottom. The interior was clean, but it was also completely empty. Not a single piece of furniture sat in any of the rooms. The kitchen cupboards were bare. A fine layer of dust covered the mantelpieces, but everything else in the structure was immaculately clean.

By the time Jack and Mr Doyle had searched the house from top to bottom, the sun sat low behind the trees and the air had turned cold. Evening birds started their song and Jack found himself shivering slightly.

“This is a mystery,” Mr Doyle said. “The owner of the paper mill supposedly lives here, but the building is completely empty.” He stroked his chin. “Too empty.”

“What do you mean by ‘too empty’?”

“The fellow at the paper mill spoke about the postman making visits here, but there’s no evidence of it.”

“Do you think he was lying?”

“No. I checked the letter box at the front gate. It appears to have been in use. No, I think this property is occasionally used, but not the house.”

Jack went to the window and peered out. “I don’t think there’s anything else here. Why would they –.”

“Wait!” Mr Doyle said. “Do you hear that?”

Jack listened. He heard the chuffing of a faraway steam vehicle. “I think it’s getting closer.”

They hurried through the house and left via the back door, pulling it shut behind them. Racing over to a clump of bushes, they hid themselves just as a steam car came bumping along the driveway towards the house.

Two men climbed from the car and spoke to each other for a moment. They were too far away to be heard. Finally one of them crossed to the side of the house and grabbed a piece of the stonework. A low rumble came from the ground.

A section of the land about thirty feet across began to slowly rise up from the earth. Jack stared in amazement as he realised the lawn on the top was only the roof of a much larger structure – an enclosed metal building, the rear walls of which faced Jack and Mr Doyle.

The men spoke again for another moment before one of them entered the enclosure. They heard the banging of a car door and a moment later a steam truck with a canvas covered back eased its way out of the amazing garage.

“We need to follow that truck,” Mr Doyle said. “We should return to the Lion’s Mane.”

Jack nodded, but it looked like events were moving rather more quickly than they would have liked. The other man drove the car into the garage and a moment later activated the control to sink the building back into the ground.

“They’re going to leave,” Mr Doyle said. “We have to hurry.”

He led them around the side of the building and a moment later they broke into a run as they hurried down the avenue of elm trees. Climbing over the front gate, they heard the changing of the truck’s gears and the vehicle barrelling down the driveway behind them.

“Quickly,” Mr Doyle said.

They took refuge in a thick shrub as the vehicle approached. The truck’s passenger closed the gate and climbed back into the vehicle. The truck started slowly down the road.

“We must get back to the Lion’s Mane,” Mr Doyle said.

“There’s no time for that. The vehicle will be out of sight in a minute.”

“We’ll spot it from the air.”

“In the dark?” Jack asked. “I think we need to jump onto the back.”

Mr Doyle started to say something, but Jack had already broken from cover and started down the road. Mr Doyle caught up with him after a few seconds. The truck changed gears and Jack put on more speed. He reached the rear of the vehicle, grabbed a hand hold and threw himself onto the back. The truck increased its speed.

Jack looked behind him just in time to see Mr Doyle fall. He had forgotten about the detective’s bad leg. The older man had almost caught up with the vehicle when his leg gave way and he went sprawling onto the road. Mr Doyle rolled twice and urgently signalled with his hand.

Stop. Get off the truck.

Jack considered following his advice, but already the vehicle was moving too fast. In the few seconds it had taken Mr Doyle to fall over and clamber to his feet, the steam truck had picked up so much speed it now raced down the darkened country road.

The last thing Jack saw was Mr Doyle’s despairing face. A moment later the steam truck rounded the bend and the detective disappeared from sight.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

At first Jack clung to the upright handle on the back of the truck for dear life. After a few minutes he realised this was a dangerous thing to do; he could be seen by anyone on the road or he might simply lose his grip and fall off. So after a while he squeezed himself through a gap in the tarpaulin and took refuge in the rear of the vehicle.

He felt bad about leaving Mr Doyle behind. The great detective had fallen over heavily. Now Jack felt guilty about leaving him behind on the road. He cursed himself. He should not have taken off at such a pace. He should have remembered Mr Doyle’s bad leg. But there was no way they would have ever found the steamtruck in the dark. It would have headed off on its way never to be seen again.

I had to do it, he told himself. This truck might lead to M and the bomb.

But he still felt bad about leaving Mr Doyle behind.

The truck bumped and chuffed down the darkened country road. Jack peered through the gap in the tarp and saw them racing through the little town of Mossley – he only knew because he saw the name emblazoned over the door of the pub. The town was so tiny that they passed through it in a minute and open countryside again closed in around them.

A full moon hung low over the trees. It had grown increasingly full over the last few days and now it hung like an incandescent globe in the dark. Jack felt a pang of sadness when he looked at its sepia face. In the back of the truck, hurling along this unfamiliar landscape, the moon seemed as alone as he felt.

Suddenly Jack felt a tear trickle down over his cheek. He felt stupid feeling so emotional. And over what? The moon? Was he losing his mind? He leaned back into the truck and braced himself against the wall.

I know what it is, he thought.

The truth was that Mr Doyle had fast become his best friend and he had just left his best friend standing alone in the middle of a darkened country lane. If the truck were to suddenly come to a halt, Jack felt he would leap out and start hiking back to where he had left Mr Doyle. But that would be stupid.

Right now Mr Doyle and everyone else needed his help to track down M. And that was exactly what he was going to do. With this thought in mind he rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes.

And promptly fell asleep.

When he awoke he realised two things at once. He could smell the sea and the truck had ground to a halt.

“Blimey,” he muttered under his breath.

Scampering over to the edge of the tarp, he cautiously pulled it aside and saw a rocky platform and darkened shrubbery. He listened for human sounds and after a moment heard the distant sound of voices. Climbing from the rear of the vehicle, he landed on soft sand and peered under the truck. He saw two pairs of legs.

Running quickly across the sand, he carefully mounted the darkened rocks and wedged himself between them for cover. From here he could see the two men standing on the beach at the foreshore. One of them had something in his hand. A lantern. He slowly waved it backwards and forwards.

He was signalling to someone at sea!

Jack looked out over the moonlit water and expected to see a ship carving through the waves. Instead he saw nothing. A cool breeze drifted onto the shore. He wrapped his arms around himself. Finally he saw something break the surface. A long pole rose out of the sea, casting a shadow across the waves. A periscope. Seconds passed as the men continued to signal with the lantern. Then the periscope disappeared and a moment later a submarine broke the surface.

Once the conning tower had cleared the surface, a large rectangular hatch opened forward of the bow. A raft was flung into the sea as an object surrounded by men rose up out of the hatch.

Jack peered in confusion at the activity. They seemed to be unloading something, but what could be so important that –.

The bomb.

Of course, Jack realised. Mr Doyle had said M was still waiting for the device to be delivered. That’s what they were doing. A small crane erected on the hull of the sub lifted the bomb into the boat and men climbed in with oars. They pulled away from the sub and aimed for the shore.

Jack felt helpless as the bomb drew closer and closer to the shoreline. In all of England he was the only person who could stop the delivery of the weapon – and there was nothing he could do about it. The rowboat drew closer and closer to the shore until it nudged the pebbly beach.

It’s here, Jack thought.

If he expected some sort of fanfare to accompany the arrival of the super weapon, it did not happen. Instead, the men from the truck backed the vehicle down the beach and the men hoisted the bomb into the back of the vehicle.

It all looked so normal. Jack wondered how M employed such men. How did he find people to support him in his mad schemes? Did they not know the purpose of the device? Maybe they simply did not care. Money spoke all languages. Maybe M’s underlings were so obsessed with riches that the lives of innocents meant nothing to them.

The men from the submarine climbed back into their rowboat and made their way back to the submarine.

Mission accomplished, Jack thought angrily. Time to find some other sick and evil deeds to commit.

The men from the truck resealed the tarp, climbed into the vehicle and started the engine.

Jack knew what he had to do, which was quite different to what he would have liked to do. What he would have liked was contact the authorities and let them handle it from here. Unfortunately, police constables were few and far between on beaches in the middle of the night, so now the responsibility fell to him.

It’s now or never, he thought.

As the truck jolted past him, Jack scrambled from his hiding position in the rocks and chased it up the beach. He hoisted himself up over the tailgate and squeezed back into the truck. The vehicle jolted over the uneven ground until it met a main road and picked up speed.

Jack regarded his companion, barely visible in the darkness.

“Hello bomb,” he said.

It did not reply.

Chapter Thirty

The truck continued on its midnight journey for three hours. Jack knew there was no chance he would fall asleep this time. The tension in his stomach was too great. It occurred to him to try to disable the bomb, but he immediately knew the idea was pure folly. One second he would be pulling out wires and the next…

What was it Mr Harker had said?

…We are talking about a blast radius of some two miles. Anything within that zone will be annihilated…

Jack imagined himself jerking out a wire. In the next instant he would be reduced to dust and entering the pearly gates of the afterlife while people stared in wonder at a brand new crater carved into the English countryside.

No. Trying to disable the weapon might result in disaster. The only course of action was to follow the weapon to its eventual destination and alert the authorities.

Jack felt the truck slow down. He peered through the gap in the tarpaulin. The vehicle had pulled off the main road and chugged down a narrow lane bordered by trees. It drew to a halt outside a fence. One of the men climbed out and unlatched the gate. The vehicle passed through the gap and the gate was relocked.

Jack realised they were now on someone’s private land. Hence, they were nearing their destination. Now was the time to escape. Just as the truck started up again, Jack squeezed through the gap in the tarp and eased himself onto the tailgate.

He jumped.

Aaahh!

He bit back the cry. He hit the ground harder than he intended banging his left elbow. At least his years as an acrobat had taught him to roll and disperse his momentum. A moment later he sprang to his feet and gave chase to the truck.

At first Jack was worried the driver might glance back and see him, but the truck was moving so quickly he rapidly fell behind. After a minute it turned a bend in the road and roared completely out of sight.

Jogging as fast as he dared under the moonlight, Jack realised how much his elbow hurt. Every time he moved his arm, a jolt of pain arrowed all the way up to his shoulder. He doubted it was broken – he would not be able to move the arm at all if that were the case – but it had certainly received a very severe blow. He struggled to put the pain to the back of his mind.

I could use one of those hot chocolates right now, he thought. Maybe even a second. But right now Bee Street seemed a million miles away.

He could rest and recover once this whole episode was over. Now he had to focus on finding the truck.

The countryside lay bathed in moonlight. The road curved around a series of small, rolling hills, devoid of trees or cover. Jack could still hear the vehicle up ahead of him, but it sounded distant and remote. He continued to jog under the moonlight, feeling like the rest of the world had vanished and he remained the only living thing in creation.

Jack realised he could no longer hear the vehicle. He slowed to a walk, breathing hard. He was not used to running. Wiping sweat from his brow, he walked as quietly as he could on the deserted road. Voices came distantly to him from afar. The sound of clanking machinery sang out across the landscape.

Finally he reached a bend in the road and saw a light flowing out of a cave in the side of a hill. He could not see the men, but he heard their voices. They were inside the cave.

Doing what? he wondered.

They had taken delivery of a bomb and driven it to the heart of the countryside to secrete it inside a cave in the middle of nowhere. It made no sense. They were still miles away from London. Did M not intend to use the weapon? Was it being hidden here for some future date?

Crack! Crack!

The sound of two gunshots rebounded from inside the cave. Jack almost jumped up in astonishment. He took refuge in the shadow of a nearby hill, his eyes never leaving the light shining from the interior of the cavern.

A figure appeared in the light.

M.

Jack suddenly realised what had transpired within the cave. M had killed the two men assisting him. Just as he had killed his man Flint back at the empty house.

What had Mr Doyle said?

He leaves no witnesses.

M still wore his trademark hat and scarf. He stood in the entranceway to the grotto and looked in both directions. He was a cautious man, because he had no reason to expect anyone else to be out here in the middle of nowhere. The sounds of gunfire had sounded like cannon fire in the middle of the night, but Jack doubted they had emanated any further than the nearby hills.

Still, M lingered in the glow of the cave and listened. A full minute passed before he marched over to the truck and drew back the tarp. He went back into the cave and returned a minute later with one of the men over his shoulder. Despite any abilities he may have had as a master criminal, he still laboured under the weight of the dead man. He pushed the man into the vehicle. Then he returned to the cave and retrieved the other victim and shoved him into the truck.

A moment later M threw a liquid around the vehicle and set fire to it. The steamtruck burst into flames, lighting up the area around it. The light from the fire danced across M’s lithe form.

Jack felt sick. The men in M’s employ had probably not been angels, but they had not deserved to be burnt up like old rubbish. Possibly they had families – wives, children, parents. What would their families wonder when the men did not return home?

After a moment, with the truck fully ablaze, M returned to the interior of the cavern. Jack remained in his hiding place, waiting for the master criminal to emerge, but finally he heard a sound ring out from the interior. An engine. And a large engine at that.

Jack was torn between remaining where he was and moving closer to investigate. What on earth would M be doing with an –.

The answer came to him in a flash.

Of course. The cave was not a cave at all, but the entrance to a tunnel. Some sort of vehicle lay within. Probably a steam train. M intended to transport the bomb to London.

Jack had to hurry. He broke cover, throwing caution to the wind and raced across the open field. At any instant he expected M to suddenly leap out from the cave.

“I knew you were there! I was only fooling!”

But he did not appear. Jack made it safely to the cave entrance. Fortunately steam and smoke began to pour from the interior, providing some cover for him as he entered. A faint glow emanated from inside. The first thing Jack saw in the gloom was a train. The light came from the engineer’s cabin, illuminating the coal caboose and an open flat car with an object tied to the middle.

The bomb.

Jack had no idea how the train had ended up in this location, but for some reason a private train line had been constructed underground and ran away straight into the hill. It must have taken time and money and obviously M had both.

How long had M been planning this? It must have taken years, Jack realised. And now he, sixteen year old Jack Mason, was here to witness the final act. And he was the only person who could stop M.

Suddenly the orphanage didn’t look so bad.

The steam in the boiler must have reached capacity because at that moment the train started into motion. Jack grabbed hold of the rear of the flat car and climbed on. He pressed himself against the timber floor.

The train began with a gentle swaying motion as it picked up speed. After a few minutes its momentum increased so much it screamed along the tunnel at quite a pace, a steady stream of smoke pouring back at Jack like a horizontal waterfall.

Jack felt the urge to cough quite strongly, but swallowed the sensation. He was taking no chances.

The train chuffed on into the night. Time had no meaning. Jack felt like he had been swallowed up by the earth. He had no idea how far underground the tunnel lay. Up above there were probably houses and families asleep in their beds. Little did they suspect that the devil himself was beneath them, dragging an atomic pitchfork behind him.

The volume of the engine changed. Jack felt the carriage shudder as M applied the brake to the engine. As it slowed down, Jack wondered how he could avoid being seen by the criminal. A dim light shone up ahead. A platform, not unlike one at any underground station, lay ahead on the left hand side. Jack curled his damaged elbow up close to him and released himself from the back of the train.

Despite his caution, he hit the ground hard, rolled, banged his elbow, but managed to not cry out. Lying motionless, he saw the train receding into the distance, slowly down all the way before it finally came to a halt. It remained motionless for a moment. M yelled out instructions and a man leapt off the platform and hit a switching mechanism. The next couple of minutes were spent in realigning the train. The man helped to unload the bomb from the flat car. After that, Jack could see no more.

He wondered if the man would be so willing if they had seen the deaths of their comrades at the other end of the tunnel.

M called out more orders in his raspy voice and soon Jack heard footsteps receding into the distance. The tunnel fell to silence. Jack carefully started down the black passageway. He reached the platform and carefully raised his head over the top. A ramp led up to the platform from the tracks. Obviously this was how they had moved the bomb. A long wide tunnel led away from the chamber.

Jack cautiously made his way along the passageway. It reached a T intersection. To his left he saw only darkness. The opposite direction was fitted with gas lighting. He turned right.

He was half way along the passage when he heard the shot. The sound seemed to ring throughout the underground tunnels forever. Jack thought of the man he had seen at a distance, now, undoubtedly, dead. Swallowing hard, Jack continued along the corridor. A large circular chamber opened up at the end.

Two trucks sat before a half semi-circular tunnel. Jack felt a slight breeze waft at his hair. Obviously an exit lay at the other end. The breeze carried an unpleasant scent. Sewerage. Possibly this tunnel connected with the London sewer system.

Jack shifted his attention to the exposed interiors of the vehicles. A single crate lay in the rear of one of them. Four crates lay in the other.

With some amazement, he crossed the chamber and peered into the back of the first truck. The bomb lay in a box in the rear. The weapon had been opened as if someone were operating on it. In the back of the second truck he saw four almost identical weapons, smaller in size, but still identifiable as bombs.

Five bombs.

What was going on here?

Jack heard distant footsteps. He hurried away from the truck and took refuge behind a supporting column. In the next instant he saw a figure hurry from a side passage.

Lucy!

“Lucy!” he hissed, breaking cover.

An expression of complete astonishment crossed her face.

“Jack!” She raced over to him and drew him close. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Did you escape?” Jack asked. “How did you get away from M?”

“I was tied up,” she explained. “I found a piece of sharp metal and cut through the rope.” She gripped his shoulder. “How did you find me? Is Mr Doyle here?”

“No,” he said, looking past her. “I lost him on the way. We need to make our own escape.”

“You mean no–one’s coming for us?” she frowned.

“They don’t know I’m here,” he said.

“Well, thank God you are,” she said. “I think the exit is through that tunnel.” She pointed in the direction of the breeze.

“I think so, too,” Jack said.

“We need to move fast,” she said. “You lead the way.”

Jack started towards the tunnel, but he had only taken a few steps when a thin arm wrapped itself around his throat, choking off his breath. He reached back to fight his assailant, but he found himself in a vice–like grip. Within seconds his vision swam with darkness.

He heard Lucy’s voice as if from a distance.

“Don’t struggle,” she said. “It’s easier that way.”

Chapter Thirty-One

The unpleasant stench of sewerage awoke Jack. He drifted into consciousness slowly. The sound of running water seemed to come from all directions. He opened his eyes and saw a chamber dimly lit by two lanterns. A series of round tunnels connected to it, water flowing from them into a deep pool about six feet beneath him. The pool appeared to be some sort of overflow well that led to an exit shaft to his left.

My throat hurts, Jack realised. What happened?

His hands clanked behind him when he tried to move them. He was handcuffed to a chair. None of this made any sense.

A face hovered before him.

“Hello Jack,” Lucy said. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

“What’s going on?” Jack’s memory came racing back to him. “Why are you doing this?”

Lucy clasped her hands behind her back and slowly paced back and forth before him. Finally she stopped, tilted her head and stared deeply into Jack’s eyes. Peering back, Jack could see no trace of Jon Harker’s loving daughter. Instead, he saw something disturbing in her eyes.

Madness.

“Why am I doing this?” Lucy repeated. “Because I can, Jack. Allow me to share some of the facts of life with you. The world is full of small people. They go about their small lives and eventually die their small deaths. Mr Darwin has spoken about survival of the fittest. Only the strong survive. The weak perish. It stands to reason that it is better to be strong than weak.”

“But your father –.”

“He was weak.” Lucy said the words simply. She gave a wan smile as if momentarily saddened. “He and the Phoenix Society, a bunch of weak silly men working in secrecy, dictated by the doctrine of men dead for centuries.” Her face exploded into amazement. “But to what end? To hide the inventions away to never be used? The Phoenix Society had absolute power in their grasp and then refused to use it.”

Jack remembered what Mr Doyle had said about absolute power.

“Lucy. Don’t tell me -.”

“He had to die.”

This whole episode seemed completely unreal to Jack. He felt almost as if he were dreaming the entire experience.

“Lucy,” Jack felt sick in the stomach. “Did you murder him?”

“He was sick and foolish. Old.”

“But he was your father,” Jack said in horror.

“And all men must die,” she said. “Eventually.”

Lucy stared up at the ceiling for a long time as if gathering her thoughts. Finally she turned again to Jack. “It takes vision to command the world, Jack. Vision and the ruthless application of power. My father did not have that.” She added. “I do.”

Jack Mason felt like he was in a hallucination. He shifted his hands and the cuffs clanked noisily.

Those are no hallucination, he thought.

“So you’re working with M?” he said.

Lucy burst out laughing. The mocking sound rang through the chamber, echoing and reverberating through the tunnels until it sounded as if a hundred women were laughing in support of her. Finally she bent close to Jack, drew back her hand and slapped him hard across the face.

“You silly little boy,” she said.

She turned her back to him. “Tell your masters they have signed Lucy Harker’s death warrant,” she rasped. “Today she will die and at midnight tomorrow so will London.”

She turned back to Jack and winked.

Jack would have fallen off the chair if he were not handcuffed to it.

“You’re M,” he said.

“There is no M,” Lucy said. “He is only a shadow. Only a delusion.”

“Why?” Jack asked.

“Because women are not respected!” she spat in fury. “Men think us weak and small. Creatures to be coddled and cherished. I needed a mask, a legend that would strike terror into the hearts of any who stood against me.

“I needed M,” Lucy said. “And he needed me. So I invented him.”

“But you’ve done such evil things,” Jack said. “And the bomb. Don’t you care that thousands of people are going to be killed?”

“You’re a child, Jack. Those people are going to die anyway. It might be today or tomorrow or fifty years from now, but one day they will be dust.”

“So will you,” Jack said bitterly.

“But until then I will be rich and powerful. Men will tremble at my feet. Civilisations will fall to their knees at my command –.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jack said. “You might destroy London, but then –.”

“London is only the beginning,” Lucy said through clenched teeth. “Then I will drive other cities to their knees. You saw them, didn’t you Jack? I have four other bombs and I have divided the uranium – their power source – between all five weapons.

“Certainly, the London blast will be smaller than expected, but the destruction of the inner city will be enough to make other countries bow before me. I will extort money and valuables from all the great cities – Paris, Rome, New York. They will pay me or they will burn.”

She bent over low so that her face hovered only inches away from Jack’s features. “And there’s nothing anyone can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

The voice emanated from the other side of the chamber. A deep and confident voice, it reduced Lucy’s face to absolute surprise.

Ignatius Doyle stepped from one of the alcoves. He held a gun in his hand.

“This entire area is surrounded, Lucy,” Mr Doyle said. “It’s over. You will go to jail for the rest of your life – which will probably not be very long. We still hang criminals here in London. You’re an evil woman, Lucy and I’m sure many will believe the world a better place without you.”

“How –,” Lucy seemed to strangle on the word. “How did you –.”

“You need not worry your little head about that,” Mr Doyle said. “Suffice to say that London will live to see another day.”

“London will not,” Lucy said. Her mouth turned down at the corners. Suddenly from her sleeve sprang a revolver that snapped into her hand. She pulled the trigger. “And neither will you.”

“No!” Jack cried.

The bullet struck Mr Doyle in the chest, spinning him around and sending him flying. In the next instant, Lucy rounded Jack’s chair and gripped the back of it.

“Time to meet your maker, child.”

She angled it up onto its front legs and toppled it forward.

Jack landed head first in the water. He jerked his body backwards and spun the chair around. For a brief moment his head floated above the surface.

He saw Lucy looking down at him as dispassionately as a small child torturing an insect.

“The bomb will never be found.” She gave him a wry smile. “Iit will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Despite Jack’s struggles, the chair dragged him down into the icy depths.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The freezing cold flow of the liquid was numbing. Time slowed to a crawl. Jack could not breathe. He had instinctively held his breath as he sank. He knew he only had a minute, maybe two at the most before his breath ran out and he drowned.

But his concern was not for him.

It was for Mr Doyle.

Lucy Harker had shot him in the chest!

Even now the detective probably lay dying on the cold, stone floor.

He had to save Mr Doyle and the only way to do that was to remain calm. He had to think.

Think!

He pulled experimentally on the handcuffs. First he had to escape from the chair. The chair was constructed of wood. If he had an hour he might be able to break it apart with his body weight, but as he only had minutes to live, he had to go to Plan B.

The lock–pick.

Jack was able to reach his jacket and ease the device from his pocket. It slid out beneath him in the gloomy water. Lying face down on the bottom of the pool, he now saw the device lying to the left of his hand. He jerked the chair about slightly and his hand closed around it.

Now it got difficult. He shifted the device about in his hand and tried to insert it into the key hole of the cuffs. The angle was all wrong. He braced it against the stonework at the bottom of the pool. Now he had to push down on the trigger.

He could not reach it.

A shot of breath burst from his nose and water trickled in.

He had to stay calm, he told himself. Or he would die and so would Mr Doyle.

If he wasn’t already.

He reached with all his might and the tip of his middle finger grazed the trigger. Not enough. He slid his arm further down the handcuff and tried again. It pushed down on the trigger.

Why wasn’t it working?

He jerked his head back and saw the mechanism that should have been inserted into the lock had slipped out and was impotently trying to unlock the water. Jack adjusted the lock again to line up with the lock–pick. Another burst of air spat from his mouth. His head felt like it was ready to burst. A strange pressure pushed from behind his eyeballs.

An image came into his mind.

His mother at the top of the trapeze. Calling out to him.

Try. Try harder.

He shook his head and refocused on the lock–pick. He inserted the end into the lock again and this time reached down with all his might to touch the trigger.

The handcuff loosened.

The lock–pick had not worked completely, but it had opened the cuff far enough to allow Jack to slide his hand free. As he did so, another shot of water lurched into his nose and he could not resist the urge to cough. As he did so, water poured into his mouth.

His vision blurred. Inky black spots bounced around in the gloomy gas lit water. He saw his mother again, but this time she appeared distant and he could not hear her words.

He had to keep going, he thought. Mr Doyle needed him.

His left hand clumsily tried to insert the device into the other handcuff, but his chest suddenly convulsed with the urge to take in oxygen. The device whirred impotently in the water.

He had to keep trying.

Don’t give up!

The one clear thought cut through the gloom in his mind as he tried one last time to insert the lock–pick into the key hole. The handcuff suddenly snapped open. With his lungs about to explode and a sea of black dots dancing across his eyeballs, he placed his feet against the chair and pushed as hard as he could towards the surface of the water.

Not far enough. Just two more feet. He tried to swim, but his arms had no strength. In vain, Jack lifted his hand up towards the meagre light.

His energy was gone. The black dots joined together to form a dark, rolling sea. He could actually see the terrible pressure in his head. The force behind his eye balls, pressing down on his brain had turned into a steam powered press. Men shovelled coal into the burner. Pipes heating. Boiling water. Producing steam.

But instead of rolling clouds of white steam, he saw blackened pools of billowing vapour, surrounding him, carrying him away to some other place.

An arm spat through the water as if from a million miles away and grasped his outstretched hand. It pulled so hard that his elbow shrieked with distant pain, but that was alright because now something cold danced across his face.

Air.

Someone slammed him face first onto the cold stonework and pushed down on his back and water spurted out of his nose and mouth. The sensation was quite unpleasant, really, because the calm inky night he had so comfortably swam in rudely drained away to nothing.

He took a gasping breath. Choked. Vomited water.

“There, there,” a voice said gently. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

Jack continued to vomit as cold reality pressed in on him. Tunnels. Stonework. Oil lamps. The hands pushing down desperately on his back. Now the sensation to vomit lessened and Jack slowly eased over onto his side.

He looked up into a face he knew only too well.

“Mr Doyle?” He gripped the man’s arm. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me,” he said. “Are you alright?”

Before he could reply, he spat up another few mouthfuls of water. Finally he stood, gripping the older man’s arm for support. He suddenly looked at him.

“But you were shot,” Jack said.

“I was shot,” Ignatius Doyle agreed. “But it seems the angels looked upon me with kindness.

“Or one angel, at least.”

He reached under his shirt and pulled out his son’s dog tags. Neatly jammed into the centre of one of them lay a bullet. A sharp eyed marksman could not have planted it closer to dead centre on the piece of metal.

“The bullet struck me and knocked me down. I hit my head and was knocked senseless for a moment. When I came too I realised you were in the water and came to your aid.” The great detective shook his head. “I should have told you my suspicions.”

“About what?”

“About Lucy.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “You mean you thought she was involved in this?”

“I even thought she was M.”

“What?”

“You may recall I noticed a bruise on her ankle,” Mr Doyle said. “When we were on the airship in Switzerland.”

“I remember.”

“I believe it resulted from you wrapping your belt about her ankle on the train to trip her up,” Mr Doyle explained. “And then there was the bloody handprint near the body of her father.”

“I remember,” Jack said. “There was a strange mark across one of the fingers. I thought it was a scar.”

“I believe it was caused by the puzzle ring on her right hand. A very pretty ring, really.” Mr Doyle looked glum. “I’m really very sorry, Jack. I have no right to place you in such danger.”

Jack shook his head. What was it Scarlet said? “Everyone has to do their duty,” Jack said. “And if we had not done our duty then London would be doomed.”

“Possibly it still is,” Mr Doyle said. “Quickly. We must find the exit.”

They made their way through the labyrinth of tunnels. Of the two trucks, the one with the four bombs was still parked, obviously abandoned by Lucy in her haste to escape. The other containing the single weapon had disappeared. Mr Doyle explained how he came to be in the tunnels.

“I got a message through to MI5,” he said. “They were able to tell me who was the owner of Featherwick. Someone by the name of Smith!” Mr Doyle gave a brief laugh. “They were also able to tell me the same owner also had a piece of land not far away.”

“The railway tunnel!”

“Indeed,” Mr Doyle said. “The tunnel was part of a project that went bankrupt during the war and was never completed. I was able to gain access to the tunnel a few miles down the track and follow it here.”

“Mr Doyle,” Jack said.

“Yes, my boy.”

“You really are the world’s greatest detective.”

Mr Doyle looked embarrassed. “I actually have a cousin who is rather good too, but he’s another story.”

The detective led them through the tunnels to a winding metal staircase that led upwards to the street.

Jack inhaled fresh air deep into his lungs. They stood on a quiet backstreet near Saint Paul’s Cathedral. They made their way to a nearby cross street.

“It’s very quiet,” Jack said.

“Most of London has been evacuated,” Mr Doyle said.

At that moment a steam car came chuffing down the street at high speed. It drew to a halt. General Churchill leaned out, a cigar clenched firmly between his teeth.

“Mr Doyle and Jack Mason!” General Churchill said in astonishment. “What a pleasure! Have you had any success in locating the bomb?”

General Churchill climbed out of the vehicle and listened in amazement as Jack described the events of the last few hours. When he finished, General Churchill chewed impatiently on his cigar. “We’ve had police searching the city from end to end. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to search every single street and every single building. I doubt –.”

He broke off as his bottom jaw quivered. “I fear we may lose this great city.”

Lucy said something to me while I was in the water, Jack thought. She was smiling. She thought she would win, but…

“Maybe not,” Jack said quietly.

Both the men looked at him.

“There was something Lucy said before she left,” Jack recalled. “She said, ‘It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Just a figure of speech,” General Churchill said. “People say that all the time.”

“No,” Jack said. “It was the way she said it. She looked quite pleased with herself. As if she were enjoying some sort of secret joke.”

The three of them stood in silence pondering the words. Mr Doyle frowned, drawing his eyebrows together in concentration. General Churchill chewed thoughtfully on his cigar.

“Like looking for a needle in a haystack,” General Churchill mused. “There certainly aren’t any haystacks in London.”

“But there is a needle,” Mr Doyle said. “Cleopatra’s needle.”

They stared at him in astonishment.

“Cleopatra’s needle is an obelisk located on the Victoria Embankment not far from here,” Mr Doyle explained to Jack.

“That must be it,” Jack said.

“It’s that or nothing,” General Churchill replied.

They piled into his vehicle and headed towards the Thames.

“Will we get there in time?” Jack asked.

“Lucy will have given herself time to escape,” Mr Doyle said. “But if she were escaping the city in a private airship she would probably only need an hour.”

They turned right onto the Victoria Embankment. General Churchill increased the speed of the vehicle. All around them the city lay quiet and still, the moon bathing it in silver light. The Thames lay to their left as they zoomed past it. Finally General Churchill slowed the vehicle. He drew it to a halt. Even before they had climbed out, Jack was pointing.

“There!”

A truck sat in the shadow of the obelisk. It looked altogether unremarkable. Jack realised it could have been the vehicle from the tunnel, but he could not be certain. They hurried to the rear of the truck. Mr Doyle pushed the tarp aside.

“This is it,” he said quietly. “Now we have to disarm the device.”

“I have good news about that,” General Churchill said. “I have instructions copied straight from Mr Bell. As long as we follow them, we should be able to disarm the device.”

The three of them climbed into the rear of the vehicle. The bomb lay in the centre. A small illuminated panel was located in the dead centre on the top.

“This is a countdown device,” Mr Doyle said. “We have fifteen minutes till detonation.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” General Churchill said. “Jack, wait outside.”

Jack opened his mouth to argue, then realised it would only be a misuse of time. Without a word, he climbed out of the van. He stood silent and still, looking up at the sky. It was a clear night. He remembered looking up at the sky from the orphanage and not being able to see the stars. Tonight he could see them clearly. It seemed the whole arm of the galaxy lay across the city, a huge comforting arm embracing London in its grasp. Jack walked over to the river and looked across it. The water rose and fell gently as it had for thousands of years.

I don’t want to die, Jack thought. I miss my parents and I love them, but I’m not ready to join them. Not yet. There’s too much here. There’s Mr Doyle and Scarlet and a whole world of adventure. I’m not ready to go. Not yet.

A sound came from behind him.

The tarpaulin on the truck was pushed back and the two men stepped out. They slowly walked over to Jack at the side of the river.

“Is it –.” Jack began.

“It’s done,” Mr Doyle said. “We’ve defused the device.”

“So we’re safe,” Jack said.

“We’re safe,” General Churchill replied. “And London is safe. And England is safe. Thanks to you both.”

“All in a day’s work,” Mr Doyle said.

“Oh,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Chapter Thirty–Three

The next day turned out to be the busiest day of Jack’s short life. After the weapon was taken away by the armed forces, Mr Doyle and Jack endured several hours of questioning by MI5. After the intelligence bureau finished with them, the heads of several other organisations took turns quizzing them. Finally even the local police asked a few questions so they could close their files.

Later that day they received a note from Scarlet and Mr Bell, asking if they could call on them at Bee Street at four o’clock. As Jack finished combing his hair for the tenth time – he had to look his best for Scarlet – he heard a light knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said.

Mr Doyle appeared. “Hello Jack.”

“Are they here, yet?” Jack eyed himself in the mirror.

“No, not yet.” Mr Doyle looked embarrassed.

“What’s wrong, Mr Doyle.”

“Actually, there’s something I need to speak to you about.” The detective entered and sat down heavily on Jack’s bed. Jack pulled the chair out from his desk and sat down.

“What is it?” Jack asked nervously.

“It’s about you assisting me in my cases,” Mr Doyle said. “You see, I did not realise the dangers involved. Perhaps I was foolish. Well, they say there’s no fool like an old fool.”

“You’re not old, Mr Doyle.”

The detective shot him a smile.

“That’s very kind of you, my boy,” Mr Doyle said. “But the truth is that you’re a young man with your whole life ahead of you. I think it might be better if other employment were found for you. Possibly an apprenticeship with a tradesman -.”

“No!” The word exploded from Jack’s mouth. “Mr Doyle! No! You can’t send me away.”

“But, my boy -.”

“No.” Jack said the word firmly. “Mr Doyle. You need me and I need you.”

“But this is dangerous work,” Ignatius Doyle said. “We deal with unpleasant things. Violent people -.”

“There are unpleasant things in life,” Jack said. “And violent people. I know that.”

“But your safety -.”

“I appreciate your concerns, Mr Doyle,” Jack said. “But I can’t hide away from the unpleasantness of life. No-one can.”

I didn’t know how bad things could get, he thought. Not until the accident. But losing my parents was like his world being pulled out from under me.

“But if anything were to happen to you -,” Mr Doyle’s eyes glistened with moisture.

“Mr Doyle.” Jack sat on the bed next to the great detective. “No-one can stop terrible things from happening in life. No-one.”

A long silence followed between them.

“There must be some other possibility,” Jack said.

“This is a dangerous line of work for someone who is unprepared,” Mr Doyle paused. “So you would need to be prepared. You need to be trained.”

Jack held his breath.

Mr Doyle continued. “I would have to train you in everything I know.”

“I can learn.”

Mr Doyle sniffed. “It’s a lot of training.”

“Alright.”

“I’m talking about martial arts, the science of detection, biology -.”

“I’m ready,” Jack said.

“Astronomy, physics -.”

“When do I start?”

Mr Doyle took a deep breath. “This may be a long and difficult challenge for you, but -.”

“Yes?”

“Eventually you would be ready,” Mr Doyle said. “Which is only appropriate. After all, it is my responsibility as your guardian to raise you to be strong and healthy and -.”

“As my…,” Jack interrupted. “As my guardian?”

“Well, yes,” Mr Doyle frowned. “I thought Mr Daniels from the orphanage would have explained that to you. If you stay here, it means you will become my ward.”

“You mean, like family?”

Mr Doyle nodded. “Like family. But if you don’t want that -.”

“No,” Jack said firmly. “I like that. I like that very much indeed.”

Epilogue

Gloria Scott prepared cake and tea as Jack, Mr Doyle and the Bells settled around the living room.

“What will happen to the bombs now?” Scarlet asked.

“Secreted away,” Mr Doyle explained. “Atomic weapons, like the many other weapons devised by the Phoenix Society, are years ahead of their time. The government has placed them into storage until we reach a point where we can deal with atomic power – if that day ever comes.”

“And what will happen to the laboratory in Switzerland?” Jack asked.

“Already destroyed,” Mr Bell said briskly. “Apparently the Swiss were so fearful of the technology contained within the lab, they decided it safer to blow it all to kingdom come than let it remain intact.”

“That’s a terrible waste,” Jack said. “But at least the other labs still exist.”

Mr Bell shook his head. “The other labs were only used for partial research. The real technology existed within the Swiss lab. With it gone, the society is finished.”

“What about the other members, father?” Scarlet asked gently.

“Like all secret societies, Phoenix was very good at keeping the membership a secret – even from each other. The few other people I knew have all gone into hiding. Like rats deserting a sinking ship.”

“What about you, Mr Bell?” Jack asked. “Are you, well, the police…”

His voice trailed off.

Joseph Bell smiled. “Technically, I broke no laws. It is not a crime to belong to a secret society. Or to invent. And I have co–operated fully with the authorities. Thankfully, I will not be spending time ‘at her majesty’s pleasure’. In fact, my name has not appeared in the papers at all.”

“Nor ours,” Mr Doyle said.

“I would have expected medals for you and Jack,” Scarlet said. “After all, you did save London.”

“I wanted one,” Jack pretended to be grumpy. “But Mr Doyle wouldn’t let me have it.”

Mr Doyle smiled. “Consulting detectives require a certain amount of anonymity.”

“And what about Lucy Harker?” Scarlet asked.

A silence fell among the group.

“What indeed?” Mr Doyle looked troubled. “She’s a sick and evil woman. She escaped London even though a net had been thrown up around the city to apprehend her. The assets of her father’s empire have been seized by the government, so she has lost that financial lifeline. But as to the future…”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Jack said.

Mr Doyle nodded. “There’s always tomorrow. The search for Lucy Harker will continue. I believe she will be caught. One day.”

“Probably by us,” Jack said.

Mr Doyle shot a look at him and smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I like your confidence, by boy.”

“Well, I think you both deserve something special for your wonderful efforts,” Scarlet said. She leaned over and planted a kiss on both Mr Doyle and Jack’s cheeks.

“Bazookas,” Jack said, his face turning bright red.

“Bazookas,” Mr Doyle echoed, hurriedly sipping his tea.

They all laughed. Jack realised he had to change the subject. “I would like to propose a toast,” he said, raising his cup.

“To whom?” Mr Doyle asked.

“To Leonardo da Vinci,” Jack said. “The greatest inventor who ever lived.”

“And to family,” Mr Doyle said.

Jack’s eyes met those of the great detective.

“To family,” they chorused.

As they sipped their tea, Mr Doyle said, “And we must not forget that Mr da Vinci was one of history’s greatest artists. He did, after all, paint the Mona Lisa.”

“I’ve always wondered what that smile was all about,” Scarlet said thoughtfully.

“Who’s smile?” Mr Doyle asked.

“The Mona Lisa’s.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Mr Doyle said. He took another sip of his tea. “I once investigated a case involving the Mona Lisa, a seven per cent solution of cocoa and a man with three arms. Now, let me tell you about it…”

###

Greetings from Darrell Pitt

Hi there!

I hope you enjoyed reading The Steampunk Detective as much as I enjoyed writing it. Would you like to see Jack and Mr Doyle in more adventures? Let me know. I’d love to hear from you! Please email me at:

darrellpitt@gmail.com

I’m writing new adventure novels all the time. You can find out what I’m working on by visiting me at:

http://www.darrellpitt.com

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Thanks again and keep reading!

Darrell