The Broken Sun (9 page)

‘Although,' Scarlet said, ‘there is often a foundation for legends. The story of
Dracula was based on a medieval tyrant named Vlad the Impaler. And sailors are thought
to have mistaken dugongs on rocky shorelines for mermaids.'

‘It's possible such a city once existed, but whatever truth surrounds it has been
long lost to history.'

‘What will we do now?' Jack asked.

‘There is still a remaining piece of the Broken Sun to consider. It resides with
Professor Howard Morely, a resident of Norway. I have already sent him a message
that he may be in danger. Tomorrow we'll leave to visit him to see if he can shed
any light on the matter.'

Jack was too excited to sleep. Climbing into bed, his mind was still buzzing.

Atlantis
, he thought.
Was it really possible…?

The next thing he knew was that someone was knocking at his door. He blearily raised
his head to see Mr Doyle.

‘Adventure calls.'

‘Was I asleep?' Jack asked.

‘For about three hours.'

‘It felt like three minutes.'

‘You can grab more sleep on the way. The
Lion's Mane
has been returned and appears
to be in perfect order.'

Jack and Scarlet joined Mr Doyle on the roof.
It was a pleasure to see the airship
back in her usual position.

Mr Doyle sighed. ‘I'm so glad you're here.'

‘Thank you, Mr Doyle,' Scarlet said.

‘Oh.' The detective looked embarrassed. ‘I was actually talking to the ship.' He
disengaged the tie ropes and brought the engine to full power. ‘Next stop,' he said,
‘Norway.'

CHAPTER TEN

It took a full day and a night to cross the North Sea. The lightening sky was wild
with scudding clouds, and the wind howled as the thrumming engines pushed the
Lion's
Mane
onwards.

Mr Doyle was an excellent pilot, but strong headwinds kept buffeting the vessel about
like a cork in a stream, until they finally crossed into Norwegian airspace.

‘Did you know that Norway has one of the most rugged coastlines in the world?'

Jack and Scarlet clung to a rail as the
Lion's Mane
tilted wildly, but Mr Doyle seemed
completely at ease.

‘No, I didn't,' Jack said. ‘We're not about to crash into it, are we?'

‘Not at all,' the detective laughed heartily. ‘What can you tell me about Norway?'

The ship seesawed in the other direction.

‘Uh…a lot of Norwegians live there.'

‘I must have a word to Miss Bloxley about your geography,' Mr Doyle grumbled.

Scarlet spoke up. ‘Norway is known as the Land of the Midnight Sun,' she said. ‘For
some months of the year, the sun never completely descends below the horizon.'

‘Imagine that,' Jack said.

The ship rocked.

Mr Doyle pushed a button on the console. ‘Oh dear,' he said. ‘That's very unfortunate.'

‘What is?' Jack's voice had gone up a key. ‘Is something broken?'

‘I'm afraid so. I certainly didn't prepare for this.'

Jack tried to remember the evacuation procedures for the ship. He was supposed to
put on an inflatable lifejacket. Did he blow it up now? Or when he was in the water?
And was it every man for himself? But he couldn't leave Scarlet behind! Or Mr Doyle,
for that matter…

‘The refrigerator has lost power,' the detective said. ‘My cheese will be off.'

‘
Your cheese…?
' Scarlet gaped.

‘I know,' Mr Doyle said. ‘I'm disappointed too.'

Jack and Scarlet held on to the console as the airship tilted in the other direction.

‘I think Miss Bloxley might have mentioned Norway.' Jack had learnt more about geography,
history, literature and languages in the last few months than in his whole life.
‘But it must have slipped my mind.'

‘The country of Norway has slipped your mind? The Norwegians would be less than pleased
to hear that!' Mr Doyle said as the
Lion's Mane
seesawed again. ‘Exhilarating, isn't
it?'

‘Quite!' Scarlet replied, crashing into Jack.

‘Goodness,' Jack grunted.

‘Here's an interesting fact for you,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Norway is growing larger.'

Jack peeped through the window at the ground, hoping its growth was not simply because
they were about to crash into it.

‘The entire country was covered in an enormous sheet of ice during the last ice age,'
Mr Doyle explained. ‘It is now, if you like, “bouncing back” from the weight of that
sheet because of a process known as isostatic rebound.'

The ship was hit by a gust that almost knocked Jack and Scarlet off their feet.

Bazookas
. Jack knew his mentor was never without a book, even wandering about the
rooms at Bee Street with a volume in hand—and they were often on the most scholarly
subjects. Last week Mr Doyle had been on the back landing reading something entitled
The Glorious History of Corsets and Their Tight Reign on British Society
.

The wild winds eased and the detective steered the
Lion's Mane
inland. Jack and Scarlet
watched the landscape with interest. Mountains and ice and forests and inland bodies
of water stretched in all directions. Mr Doyle explained that the country had many
towns and cities, but the population was sparsely scattered through the countryside.

He finally landed in a forested valley, swathed in snow. Jack tethered the
Lion's
Mane
as Mr Doyle shut off the engine.

The detective stepped from the vessel, clapping his hands together. ‘We must come
here later in the year,' he said. ‘Norway enjoys quite warm temperatures during summer.'

Jack found it hard to believe. ‘You mean it has more than ice and snow?'

‘It's a lovely place to visit. Ask any Norwegian.'

Jack felt his cheeks turn rosy as they donned overcoats. It was
freezing
. After consulting
a map, Mr Doyle found a trail and they began a long march down the hillside. Snow-covered
pines surrounded them. The landscape lay strangely quiet in the morning twilight,
as if a blanket smothered everything.

It started snowing. Light flurries danced across the landscape as they followed a
wide, rocky path. The trail looked like it had been worn down by years of travel.
Mr Doyle pointed to a house on the far side of the valley, a small wooden hut, painted
red, nestled among the trees.

‘I believe that is Professor Morely's residence,' he
said. ‘We should reach it within
the hour.'

‘I hope his reception is a little warmer than Professor Stein's,' Scarlet said.

‘Let's hope he doesn't give us the cold shoulder,' Mr Doyle said, winking.

‘You notice, of course,' Scarlet mused as they trooped on, ‘that these professors
are all men?'

‘You'll get no argument from me, my dear,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Education should be open
to all.'

‘And yet it is not. Such inequality is unfair.'

Jack had not thought much about women's rights before he met Scarlet, but his mind
had been slowly opened to the inequalities between the sexes. There were protests
taking place with increasing regularity in England. Many women, including Emmeline
Pankhurst, were fighting so that women could have the same rights as men: the right
to vote, the right to education and the right to equal employment.

‘One day it will change,' Jack said. ‘I'm sure.'

‘It can't be soon enough for me,' Scarlet said.

‘Although I hope it will be peaceful change,' Mr Doyle murmured.

‘I assume you're referring to the Valkyrie Circle?' Scarlet asked. It was a terrorist
organisation responsible for several bombings around London over the past year. ‘I
hope so too.'

Two hours later they passed through a low stone wall ringing the property, continuing
up a path to the front door.

Mr Doyle motioned them to stop. ‘This door is ajar,' he said. ‘We may be too late.'

He pulled out his gun as they entered. A small antechamber lined with jackets and
hats opened out onto a living room with a fire burning in the corner. It was probably
cosy under normal circumstances, but now it felt sinister. Statues and African masks
filled the interior while the walls were plastered with sketches of ancient cities
and plans for old buildings. Mr Doyle placed a finger over his lips.

Quiet
.

He pointed to a narrow staircase. Tiptoeing to the first floor, they heard a sound
like drawers being opened. A dissatisfied grunt came from within.

Mr Doyle pushed the door wide. ‘It's time we had a little talk.'

The person on the other side of the desk was the same small, black-haired man Jack
had previously encountered. Now he wore a white coat and shoes. The contents of filing
cabinets and the bookcase had been emptied all over the floor. The man glanced at
them casually, his eyes narrowing.

‘We have nothing to discuss.' The man might have been small, but he had a surprisingly
deep voice. ‘The Broken Sun does not belong to you.'

‘Nor does it belong to you,' Mr Doyle said, waving the gun. ‘Do not take another
step.'

‘Are you afraid?' the man asked mildly. ‘Surely you do not fear one so tiny?'

A sound came from a closed wardrobe. It diverted Mr Doyle for the briefest of moments—enough
for the stranger to act. He swung about in a roundhouse kick and knocked Clarabelle
away, before delivering a series of lightning-fast blows at Mr Doyle's chest.

The detective fended them off and delivered a right cross to the man's jaw. He staggered
from the blow. At first it seemed he was about to collapse, but instead he rolled,
catapulting himself between Mr Doyle's legs and into Jack's stomach, driving him
against the wall.

Scarlet approached, fist raised, but he swept a leg under her feet and she crashed
to the floor. The man kept moving, racing down the hall. Jack, sucking air into his
lungs, gave chase.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The man raced along the path. It was snowing harder now; his white outfit allowed
him to blend with the landscape as he disappeared between two pine trees.

Jack's eyes searched the landscape. Then a shadow moved across the snow. Jack leapt
backwards as the man slammed into the ground. He had been up one of the trees!

Jack was just in time to deflect a punch, but the man followed up with another thump
to the side of his head that knocked him backwards into the snow.

Shaking off the blow, Jack raced after him. The man glanced back and now Jack saw
a look of frustration cross his face.

You think you're sick of running?
Jack thought savagely.
I'm sick of chasing you.

Something stirred in Jack's gut, a sense of grim determination. The thief had bested
him twice. Once, at the museum, and again on the island. They had already lost two
pieces of the Broken Sun. Jack was not prepared to lose the third.

The man dashed up the hill and took the left fork in the path. He was moving more
slowly now. Possibly his airship was close by.

Jack put on more speed. His head was throbbing with the exertion and the sharp sting
of the cold mountain air. The ground grew steeper, but now he was less than fifty
feet away.

Forty feet. Thirty…

The thief disappeared over a rise. A few seconds later, an airship leapt to full
power just as Jack reached the gondola. He jumped, but his fingers missed the bottom
of the gondola by inches.

Damn!

The airship climbed rapidly towards a bank of low-lying cloud. Jack watched in despair,
breathing so hard he was shaking. He had come
so close
.

Snow drifted down from the steel-grey sky, stinging his eyes as the airship entered
more cloud.

Bang! Bang!

The shots lacked aim—most likely they were fired as a warning. Jack zigzagged down
the hill to some trees.

‘Damn,' he said again. ‘Damn. Damn. Damn.'

He leaned against a trunk, filled with a despair so powerful he wanted to weep. Three
times the thief had been within his grasp and three times he had escaped.

Jack shivered. The cold was starting to take hold again, despite the sweat dripping
into his eyes.

His vision blurred. It looked like the ground was moving. Jack stared hard. The ground
was
moving. Further up the hill, it was shuddering as if a ton of popcorn had been
dumped onto a dance floor. The blanket of snow covering the hill was sliding, the
mountain groaning as if in pain.

‘Bazookas,' Jack said. ‘It's an avalanche!'

He started down the hill as the roar grew louder, balls of loose snow tumbling past
him. Jack ran as fast as he could, but in his panic he had lost the path and now
his legs sunk into deeper snow.

Where's the path?
he thought.
I'm dead if I don't find it.

He spotted it, a trail of stone to his left, but it was too late: the entire side
of the hill was racing after him like an out-of-control train.

Jack's mind went blank.

He had to think.
Think!

He had read something about avalanches, that book about mountain climbing in the
library back at Bee Street. There was a strange, obscure detail that had fascinated
him. What was it? He had to remember or
he was going to die.

Backstroke.

The single word came to him like an explosion. He had to swim in the direction of
the avalanche, but freestyle would only cause him to bury himself deeper into the
snow. So he had to be counterintuitive: turn his back on the monster racing towards
him and
backstroke
over it.

Jack threw himself backwards as the snow swept under his legs, backstroking into
the current. The white mass roared past him. Onto him. Still, he forced himself to
swim into the behemoth as it swept over him, pouring over his face and body, growing
thicker and heavier.