Secret Breakers: The Power of Three (17 page)

It was still raining. ‘Suppose it isn’t open?’ Hunter called as he ran towards Hut 11.

‘We’ll worry about that if it’s locked. I thought the idea was the hut was always open so you could pass on information in an emergency. Ingham did explain that,’ Tusia said in her best teacher voice.

The door to the hut was indeed unlocked and after a small degree of struggling, when Hunter realised he was turning the handle the wrong way, the door opened and they were able to push inside out of the rain.

The hut was lit in a pale yellow glow. The candle was nearly spent; the flame weak and fragile. Above their heads the internal mail vacuum system hummed gently like a sleeping animal snoring.

‘This Royal Pavilion,’ Brodie said as they positioned themselves below the opening in the pillar. ‘Where do you think that is?’ It was the first time they’d questioned the answer they’d found.

‘No idea,’ said Hunter. ‘But I’m sure Smithies will know. We just have to get him the information.’

‘What shall I put on the note then?’ Brodie asked, glad at least they could leave some of the problem for the adults.

It took a while and several rejected versions before they finally agreed. Brodie wrote it down and after they all signed their names at the bottom, Hunter folded the page and slipped it carefully inside a waiting tube.

Mr Smithies. We’ve managed to find the location of Van der Essen’s phoenix. It’s in a Royal Pavilion. Does this make sense?

There was a gentle popping noise and then a rather inelegant slurp as the message and its tube was sucked into the overhead system and began to rattle away from them unseen across the piping in the ceiling.

‘So that’s it then,’ said Hunter decisively. ‘Problem well and truly solved.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Brodie.

It was a shame really, that after all their hard work, their problems were in fact only just about to start.

‘There’s been a break-in,’ Mr Ingham declared over the row of breakfast cereals.

Brodie’s glass of orange juice spilled a giant tear into her bowl of cornflakes.

‘A breach in security. In the early hours of the morning. Smithies is going demented.’

Hunter kicked Brodie sharply under the table, causing the final remnants of juice to splash on to her toast.

‘We have to go and check,’ Tusia hissed behind her hand, dragging Brodie by the arm.

They hurried towards the door and across the lawn, past the ornamental fountain whose spray this time Hunter managed at least partially to avoid.

‘Who do you think it was?’ Brodie called, her question coming in gulping spurts.

‘A break-in from anyone can’t be good,’ returned Hunter, bending slightly to the left to escape the second sweep of the fountain.

‘Not good at all,’ added Tusia, who was trailing some distance behind mainly because the Doc Martens boots she’d chosen to wear were flapping open and she was tripping on the laces. ‘Not good at all.’

When they reached Hut 11 the door was open and the children could make out Smithies deep in conversation with Miss Tandari. There was no flame on the candle – all trace of light now drowned by a pool of hardened wax.

‘Mr Smithies! Mr Smithies!’ Brodie called, trying her best to catch his attention.

Miss Tandari hurried out of the shadows, her face set in deep lines. ‘Now’s not a good time,’ she hissed. ‘You need to get back to your huts. Keep a low profile. The last thing we want is to draw attention to this and get the police involved. There’s not much damage, only to the internal mailing system. Discretion is vital.’

‘But we need to speak to …’

Miss Tandari’s eyes were deep dark pools. She was not to be argued with. Brodie backed away as Miss Tandari turned and hurried into the hut.

‘It’s no good,’ said Hunter as the door swung shut and the inside was cut off from view. ‘We have to get Smithies’ attention somehow.’ He paused and then his face cracked into an eager smile. ‘You two wait here. I’ll be right back.’

It took about two minutes before he returned.

‘So he really rides a unicycle?’ Tusia gasped as Hunter emerged awkwardly from around the corner, the single wheel of the unicycle still severely buckled from the first-day encounter. ‘He’s really the most unusual person I’ve ever met.’

Brodie thought this was a little rich coming from a girl who kept league tables of Russian chess matches on her wall, but decided not to argue.

Hunter cycled perilously up to the high window and then, balancing his weight on the sill, he tapped rigorously. ‘The guy’s got to take notice from here,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘He’s just got to.’

It was not at all likely that Smithies would notice Hunter, who was balancing precariously outside the window, if it weren’t for the fact that the unicycle’s wheel slipped from under him and left him suspended in midair, his face pressed sideways against the glass, before he crashed spread-eagled to the ground.

‘Rather unfortunate timing, Mr Jenkins. We’re in the middle of a crisis.’ Smithies hurried from the hut, his face etched into worry lines and his left eye twitching a little.

Over Hunter’s pain-dominated mutterings Brodie managed to blurt out about the message in the mail and a note they’d sent. Smithies stopped short, his left eye twitching so rapidly it looked as if it were dancing.

‘A note,’ he said, ‘about the Firebird Code?’

‘We’ve cracked it, sir,’ Brodie said. ‘We wanted to let you know.’

The colour seemed to ebb from the old man’s face, his eyes stilled and for a moment it seemed to Brodie that he’d cry. Then he shook himself and his words were just a whisper. ‘Let’s get you three up to the billiard room. You’ve some explaining to do.’

Once Hunter was propped in the corner of the room on a rather moth-eaten sofa, Brodie talked through everything they’d discovered. Mr Smithies clapped his hands together in an obvious attempt to contain his excitement. ‘Absolutely brilliant. Absolutely marvellous.’

From his persistent moans in the corner, Hunter was finding it hard to agree.

‘Have some water, boy,’ Smithies said. ‘You’ll feel fine in a moment, I’m sure. And besides,’ he added with a giggle, ‘you’ll have to be. The five of us are off to Brighton.’

‘Brighton, sir?’ said Brodie.

‘Yes, Brighton. It all fits! The Royal Pavilion’s a palace built in the middle of the seaside town and the prince who lived there created the whole place to look like a sort of fantasy world. By the time he became king he could hardly tell fantasy from reality. It all works perfectly with Van der Essen’s choice of the story of Arthur. A king who wanted to bring about a new way of living. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. And of course the dragon reference in Van der Essen’s letter fits too. The Royal Pavilion is absolutely teeming with dragons!’

Brodie tried not to look too scared.

‘Not real ones of course. Ornamental dragons.’ He looked like a child thinking about Christmas. ‘What better place to hide something of such importance than a palace? Twenty-four-hour security, restricted access. It’s all perfect. Now,’ he said taking what appeared to be his first breath in many minutes. ‘You need to go quickly and collect your code work so on the train I can make sure everything you’ve explained is true. It’s important we keep our visit as low key as possible. A school trip to the Royal Pavilion. What could be suspicious about that?’ At once his eyes darkened and the excitement which had lit his face seemed to fade. ‘Tusia, take this to Ingham. He’ll understand.’

Smithies thrust a small wooden model of an elephant into Tusia’s hand.

‘Mr Ingham will understand?’ she mumbled.

‘Jumbo Rush,’ replied Smithies, his eyes dark. ‘A code while we’re away.’ He caught his breath. ‘When the workers of Station X were in a tricky situation during the war and they really needed to be vigilant, they got out this elephant as a visual reminder to take care. An elephant never forgets, you see.’

‘Never forgets,’ mumbled Tusia, making it sound a little as if she were taking an oath and had been instructed to repeat snatches of everything said to her.

‘Yes. All the members of Veritas need to remain focused, even Ingham if we leave him in charge of the museum,’ Smithies added forcibly. ‘Because of the break-in here it looks highly likely your deciphering’s been intercepted. If that’s the case then a new race against the clock’s on the cards.’

Hunter pulled himself up to sitting and wobbled a little before speaking. Brodie noted an egg-like lump appearing on his forehead. ‘Who do you think is after the code solution, sir?’ he said faintly.

Mr Smithies frowned. ‘I shall explain everything on the train.’

Kerrith Vernan sat in the foyer of the penthouse boardroom suite sipping nervously at her cup of cappuccino. She’d met the Director of Level Five of the Black Chamber on only two previous occasions and her nerves were causing the bone china cup to shake a little in her hand, light flashing from the diamond on her ring.

When the phone rang the noise shattered the silence. The receptionist lifted the receiver and cradled it against her ear. She listened for a moment then replaced the handset. ‘You can go through now.’

The office was oval in shape. The wooden floor was spread with a deep carpet on the centre of which was embroidered an elaborate crest. In front of three long picture-windows were two flags. One was the Union flag and the other the flag of the Chamber. In front of these was an ornately carved wooden desk and behind the desk, in a high-backed leather chair, sat the Director. He looked up as Kerrith approached.

He was not a large man. In many ways the grandeur of his office overwhelmed him. His shoulders were hunched and his shirt loose around the collar as if it’d been chosen for someone bigger. But his eyes revealed a resolve that wouldn’t weaken.

Kerrith mumbled an introduction and the Director leant back in his chair. ‘I know who you are, Miss Vernan,’ he said pointedly. ‘What I need to know is how reliable your information is.’

Kerrith coughed quietly into her hand. ‘Totally reliable, sir,’ she said.

‘And there can be absolutely no doubt?’

‘None at all, sir.’

‘And Van der Essen’s phoenix? What’d you suppose this is?’

Kerrith considered her answer. ‘Since our activities in Belgium, we know Van der Essen was a professor interested in MS 408.’

The Director’s voice showed he’d understood this point. ‘But the phoenix?’

‘We’re not sure, sir. But whatever it is, those has-been halfwits seemed keen to find it. It must be of interest.’

The Director swivelled round in the chair, surveying the scene from the window. He sighed as if he were considering his options, then moved round on the chair once more to face her. ‘I suppose for someone as new to the Chamber as you, it’s hard to understand the risk we face if news leaks out.’ He ran his finger momentarily around the back of his collar and loosened his tie. ‘Here,’ he said, standing and walking towards a set of shelves along one wall of the room. ‘Perhaps this will make it clear.’

On the shelf was a small bronze figurine of a horse and rider rearing up in battle. The Director locked his hand around the head of the rider and tilted the figurine back in his hand. To the left of the shelving a picture of a pastoral scene glided, almost imperceptibly, to the left. There was a click. The Director slid the picture further like a door to reveal a small cupboard with a keypad on the door. He tapped the keys and the door itself clicked open.

Inside was a small leather-bound folder tied closed with a red ribbon. He took it out and waited a while, the folder in his hand.

‘This is a record of all the crazy and dangerous theories that’ve existed about MS 408,’ he said and his words were hushed. ‘It’s a record of careers lost and reputations ruined. A warning to us all,’ he added.

Kerrith was unsure how to answer.

‘There are some who believe MS 408 is a book of great meaning, a text that will reveal a great secret. There are many who see it as a guidebook to another world in our own if we can only work out the code in which the secrets are recorded.’

‘And you don’t believe that?’ Kerrith asked, her desire for answers overtaking her need for politeness.

‘There are no worlds within worlds, Miss Vernan. There’s only what we see around us. What we know to be fact. Chasing after the end of the rainbow is a childish dream. One we should leave behind.’ He stood himself up taller. ‘Our job on Level Five is to clarify tangible, believable truths, not try and catch or bottle shadows.’ He sniffed as if the folder he held was reeking an unbearable smell. ‘They’re all listed here, you know. Newbold and Levitov; that meddling Fabyan woman; even Ingham, Friedman and Bray. Their crazy notions about MS 408 stored for posterity. But that’s where they should remain. Locked away, forgotten, and discredited for the lies they are.’

Kerrith tried to smile.

‘If what you tell me is true and Smithies really has been working on trying to translate the manuscript, then he must be stopped. For centuries we’ve worked to eliminate any study or publication of documents that support belief in fancies and not tangible facts.’ He twisted a silver ring on his finger bearing the mark Kerrith had seen stamped on the copies of MS 408. The same emblem on the carpet. The Director saw her watching. ‘History bears record to the lives of great men and women who’ve done their best to prevent these stories and imaginings being given life,’ he said. ‘I value your commitment to the cause, Miss Vernan. It will not go unacknowledged.’ His hand stilled on the ring and then moved to press once more on the cover of the document he held. ‘If the ideas contained in this folder were given public airing there’d be mass panic. Public order would be at risk. If the theories were proved to be true our understanding of what’s real in our world would change.’

Kerrith felt her heart quicken a little. ‘You’re sure the theories are untrue?’ she asked.

The Director rocked back his head to laugh. Then his eyes darkened, almost pityingly. ‘It doesn’t matter whether they’re true or not,’ he said, and each word was spoken carefully as if he were afraid his words would betray him. ‘What matters is that we on Level Five are in control. We are the keepers of secrets, the guardians of mystery.’ He put the folder back in the confines of the secret cupboard and swung the picture back across the door. ‘As members of Level Five, working for the Ministry of Information, we’re in the business of ensuring belief in what can be seen and tested. We’re not here to chase dreams and myths.’