The Crystal Code (13 page)

Mantle's eyes flicked across to Brahe. Brahe was leaning back in his chair, running a finger along the length of his silver nose.

‘One of our members acted outside the boundaries of behaviour that we regard as acceptable,' Brahe said. ‘He is no longer welcome amongst our group.'

‘What did he do?' Felicity asked, a butterfly still perched on the tip of her nose. She hadn't taken her eyes off Tycho Brahe's face since sitting down.

‘Let's just say that even we billionaires draw the line at murder,' Brahe said. He directed his gaze straight at Gerald. ‘He's British. Perhaps you've heard of him? His name is Sir Mason Green.'

Chapter 17

G
erald had butterflies in his hair and butterflies in his stomach. He was the meat in a butterfly sandwich.

Mason Green?

Gerald was being offered Sir Mason Green's membership in one of the world's most exclusive clubs?

He sat silent for a moment, surrounded by the whisper of thousands of gossamer wings. Then he burst out laughing. A raucous hold-nothing-back laugh.

Mr Prisk looked at him with concern. ‘Gerald? Are you all right?'

Gerald couldn't hide his glee. ‘All right? I'm taking something from Mason Green that he would have treasured. I'm over the moon!' He held out his hand to Jasper Mantle. ‘Where do I sign?'

Mantle was taken aback. ‘We've had people accept memberships for many reasons but I don't believe we've ever had anyone join the club out of spite.' He accepted Gerald's hand and shook it heartily. ‘Congratulations, Mr Wilkins. I think we can happily take you on to the next stage of the process. What do you say, Tycho?'

Everyone at the table turned to look at Brahe. At that moment the butterfly flittered from Felicity's face. It bobbed and weaved and finally lit on the silvery tip of Tycho Brahe's nose.

Felicity gasped.

That nose.

Despite the blue and green wings opening and closing just centimetres from his eyes, Brahe's focus was entirely on Felicity.

‘Do you know something, Miss Upham?' he said. ‘You're right. These things do tickle.'

Felicity wanted to look away, but her eyes were transfixed on the silver snout in front of her.

‘Let me ask you a question, Miss Upham,' Brahe said. The butterfly opened and closed its wings in slow symmetry.

Felicity looked surprised. ‘What about?'

‘You dress quite spectacularly, my dear,' he said, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘That dinner jacket is a bespoke Saville Row if I've ever seen one. Though it looks to have been tailored for someone a little larger than you. Where did you get it?'

Felicity's cheeks flushed. Her hand crossed her chest to cling onto a lapel. ‘It was, um, a gift. From a friend.'

‘You are lucky,' Brahe said, ‘to have such a generous friend. Thank you. Now you may proceed.'

Felicity blinked. ‘Proceed?'

‘To ask me the question you've been dying to ask since you arrived.'

Jasper Mantle clicked his tongue. ‘Must you do this every time, Tycho?'

Brahe ignored him. He didn't shift his gaze from Felicity.

‘Go ahead, Miss Upham,' he said. ‘They're just words. Believe me—I've heard them all. They can only hurt you if you let them.'

Felicity swallowed, and then stammered out: ‘What happened to your nose?'

Brahe slapped his hand on the table, rattling the drinks tray. ‘That's more like it!' he roared. The butterfly darted away. ‘Hard and to the point—somewhat like my nose. Well done, Miss Upham!'

‘Please, Tycho,' Mantle said. He watched the butterfly as it flitted towards the glass ceiling. ‘They startle so easily.'

Brahe leaned in close to Felicity. He lowered his voice to an austere whisper. ‘I will tell you a tale, Miss Upham. And I promise, it will curl your toenails. Do you like stories of intrigue? Do fables of wonder fascinate you?'

Felicity's eyes widened. Brahe's voice had her in a snake charmer's trance. ‘I do,' she said.

‘Excellent,' Brahe said, unblinking. ‘I see you wear no rings. No bangles. Are you not fond of jewellery?'

Felicity stared deep into Brahe's gaze. ‘Not really,' she said. ‘I prefer scarves.'

Brahe regarded her darkly. ‘Do you indeed?' He paused, and lowered his voice even further. ‘It was at a family wedding,' he said. ‘I was in my fiery twenties, and my cousin and I were worse for drink. There was an argument. Over what? Who remembers? There was a fight. He had a knife. And in a few painful seconds, he had half my face as well.'

Felicity raised her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, how sick-making.'

‘Not as sick-making as when I get a head cold,' Brahe said, a glint in his eye.

Gerald thought Felicity was going to be ill.

‘But why replace it with…' Felicity raised her index finger and pointed at Brahe's face, ‘with that?'

‘Why shy away from my foolishness?' Brahe said. ‘Why shrink from anything at all? Because I look hideous?' He laughed loudly. ‘Having half my face hacked away was the best thing that ever happened to me. I felt sorry for myself when it happened. But then I realised: if I can front the world looking like this, I can do anything. I was working in the precious-metals industry at the time, and I had one of the silversmiths fashion me a false nose. Like a badge of honour. Now I have a collection of them. This one—' he tapped a pen against the nugget on his face; it let out a hollow
clonk
—‘I wear for important meetings.' He cocked his head to one side, as if posing for a portrait. ‘It brings out my regal side, don't you think?'

Brahe slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gnarled lump of copper. He fixed Gerald with a stare. ‘This one I use if I'm doing something sporty.'

Brahe wrenched the nose from his face. Gerald gagged at the vision—a slash of scar tissue, a stub of gristle, a gaping hole. A second later, Brahe had his sports nose in place.

Gerald stared in shock. The nose looked as if it had been broken in a bar fight. There was a massive dent right across the bridge.

‘What happened to it?' Gerald asked.

‘This? A skiing accident,' Brahe said, narrowing his eyes. ‘Last weekend.'

Gerald's stomach tightened. The butterflies inside doubled their wing beats. ‘Skiing?'

‘Yes. Someone hit me across the face with a ski pole. Rotten luck. It's fortunate I have a false nose. It would have made a terrible mess of a real one.'

‘You—' Gerald couldn't finish the sentence.

‘Jasper,' Brahe said, scraping his chair across the floor as he stood. ‘Why don't you go over the next steps of the club membership with Mr Prisk? All that detail. It's just so—' he turned to Felicity and flashed her a humourless smile, ‘What's a six letter word for dull, starting with B?'

Felicity's mouth dropped open.

‘In the meantime,' Brahe continued, grabbing Gerald hard by the upper arm, ‘I want to show young Wilkins one of your very interesting bugs, down by the waterfall.' He hauled Gerald to his feet and they were into the jungle before Gerald could make a sound.

‘Butterflies,' Jasper Mantle called after them. ‘Not bugs.'

Chapter 18

T
ycho Brahe jostled Gerald in front of him, down a rough jungle path. Palm fronds clawed at Gerald's face as he was pushed deeper and deeper into the rain forest. The path twisted and turned. All around were soaring trunks and foliage, thick and impenetrable.

Brahe shoved Gerald hard in the back, sending him sprawling through a curtain of vines and into a clearing. Gerald stumbled and fell onto the mossy ground. A fine mist settled on his face. He looked up through one eye to find a twenty-metre waterfall gushing into a pool at the far edge of the clearing. Butterflies filled the air, adding a swirling vapour of colour to the spray all around them. The roar from the falls was colossal. But Gerald had no problem hearing every word that Tycho Brahe said.

‘You have something of mine.' Brahe was furious. He grabbed Gerald by the sleeve and yanked him to his feet.

‘Where are my parents?' Gerald demanded. ‘Where is Ox and Alisha?' He glared at Brahe and didn't flinch a muscle.

The slap across Gerald's face came as a total surprise.

Once.

Twice.

Three times in quick succession, the back of Brahe's hand found its mark. Brahe grabbed Gerald's ear, and twisted. The pain was excruciating.

‘You don't talk,' Brahe said, turning Gerald's head to bark in his other ear. ‘If you talk, everyone dies. Do you understand? They will all be dead in one minute from now unless you do as I say.'

Gerald opened his mouth, and Brahe squeezed harder. A cry caught in Gerald's throat.

‘No talking,' Brahe said. ‘All listening. Understand?'

Gerald nodded.

‘Good. You have something I want. A piece of jewellery.' Brahe held up his thumb and forefinger, about seven centimetres apart. ‘This big. A brooch, or maybe a pendant. It wasn't at the chalet on Mt Archer when I went looking. Where is it?'

‘I don't know anything about it,' Gerald said. His ear hurt so much.

‘Ask your pretty friend.' Brahe's dented copper nose pressed into Gerald's cheek. ‘It was in the pocket of that dinner jacket you stole. The one belonging to Sir Mason Green.'

Gerald's stomach turned.

Sir Mason Green. That man was a bone-chilling virus that could not be shaken off. Then a thought cut through Gerald's pain. Could Felicity actually have what Brahe was looking for?

‘I am a busy man,' Brahe said. ‘I have much to achieve and any delay is unacceptable. I will call you at your place in Chelsea. Tomorrow. I'll tell you how to get it to me. Any mistakes—any attempt to contact the police—and everyone suffers. You, Miss Upham and the Valentine twins included.' Brahe whipped off the copper nose and wrenched Gerald's head around to stare into the mutilated face. ‘And believe me, I know suffering.'

Gerald screwed his eyes shut with revulsion.

Brahe fixed his flawless silver nose in place and propelled Gerald back up the path.

Felicity had twenty butterflies perched on her head when Gerald and Brahe emerged from the rain forest. She turned to Gerald. Fear was written across her face. The look told him that Felicity had said nothing to Prisk and Mantle about Brahe's skiing accident, or their encounter with him in the caretaker's cottage at Mt Archer.

‘Ah, Gerald,' Mr Prisk said, ‘Mr Mantle has given me all the details we need. I think you'll quite enjoy what's planned for New York. I'll make arrangements in your schedule. It's a tremendous opportunity to—' he paused. ‘What the devil has happened to your ear?'

Gerald's hand shot up to the right side of his head.

‘It's bright red,' Mr Prisk said. ‘Are you all right?'

Brahe's whisper landed in Gerald's good ear like an arrow into a bull's-eye. ‘Everyone suffers.'

Gerald's throat constricted. ‘Must be the change in temperature. It's fine.' He forced a smile. ‘Nice to have met you, Mr Mantle, but we probably should be going. We have a dinner to get to.'

They shook hands. And as Gerald followed Felicity and Mr Prisk through the revolving doors and back into the snow, Tycho Brahe's voice went with him: ‘I'll be in touch, Gerald. I look forward to seeing you again. Very soon.'

Gerald had no doubt that was true.

The attic in Gerald's swish Chelsea townhouse was not heated. A row of bare bulbs ran the length of the ceiling and cast a harsh light across the hodgepodge of boxes and tea chests on the floor. It was dusty and cramped and uncomfortable. Perfect for Gerald's purpose.

He pushed the door shut at the top of the narrow staircase. Ruby, Sam and Felicity found themselves a place to sit among the jumble of old armchairs and crates.

‘Do you really think the house is bugged?' Sam said, at the top of his voice. This sparked off a chorus of shushing. He repeated the question, this time in a whisper.

‘Where else would Brahe have heard about that stupid crossword clue?' Gerald said. ‘And he knows who you guys are. The place is bugged, or someone's spying on us.'

‘You mentioned the crossword in the helicopter on the way to Mr Mantle's place,' Felicity said. ‘Maybe the pilot heard us.'

‘However he heard it, Brahe was giving us a message,' Gerald said. ‘He wanted us to know we're being watched.'

‘Who is this Brahe guy?' Sam asked. ‘Did I really bust his fake nose?'

‘You put a major dent in his nose and in his ego,' Gerald said. ‘He's a member of this Billionaires' Club. They want me to join. And guess whose place I'll be taking? Mason Green's.'

Ruby and Sam both jolted upright. ‘You're kidding,' Ruby said.

‘Nope. They booted him out. Mr Prisk said he wasn't a fit person to be in the club.'

‘So Mason Green kidnapped our mum and dad?' Sam said.

‘No, Green is involved somehow, but I'm sure Brahe is the kidnapper,' Gerald said. ‘He said he would make them suffer unless we did what he said.'

Felicity leaned forward. ‘Did he say what he wanted?'

Gerald had chosen not to tell Felicity everything that Brahe had said by the waterfall. Until now.

‘A piece of jewellery,' he said. ‘A piece of jewellery that Mason Green left in the pocket of his jacket. The one we picked up from the dry cleaners.'

Felicity's hand shot to her throat. She was still wearing the dinner jacket. Sitting in the glare of the bare bulbs, she looked like a guilty suspect in a police line-up.

‘What!' Ruby was on her feet.

‘Keep your voice down,' Gerald hissed. He could see that Ruby was doing all she could to stay in control. It wasn't likely to last much longer.

‘You have it?' Ruby said to Felicity. Her voice teetered on the narrow ledge between disbelief and blind rage.

Felicity's eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I didn't know,' she said. Her voice quavered. ‘I, I forgot I had it.'

‘You forgot!' Ruby clenched her hands into fists and pressed one against her mouth, trying to tamp down a scream. ‘Our parents are in danger and you
forgot
.'

Felicity lifted her head, eyes pleading. ‘It's not like that,' she said. ‘You don't understand.'

‘What's not to understand, Felicity?' Gerald said. ‘You knew the kidnappers were looking for a piece of jewellery.'

Felicity turned to him, tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘It was only after we escaped,' she said. ‘Only when we got back to San Francisco that I remembered I even had it—realised it might be what they were looking for. I didn't know what to do. I've never been in trouble before.'

‘Why didn't you give it to the police when they were interviewing us at the hotel?' Sam said.

‘I don't know,' she said. Then, more forcefully, ‘I don't
know
!' She wiped a hand across her face. ‘I was paralysed. I've never done anything wrong. I get straight A's. I'm a member of the school honour society. I'm captain of the third form choir.'

‘Pity you didn't sing to the police then, isn't it?' Ruby said.

Felicity dropped her head into her hands, sobbing.

Ruby glared at her, then shook her head. ‘You could have said something.'

‘I'm sorry…I'm so sorry.'

‘Let's see it then,' Gerald said.

Felicity pulled at her collar and ran a finger under a fine silver chain and flipped out a triangular prism of crystal. It was about seven centimetres long, with one end set into a silver cap. The crystal was a washed-out blue: milky and dull. Felicity lifted the chain over her head and dropped it into Gerald's hand.

‘It was in the jacket pocket,' she said softly. ‘It didn't look valuable. I just put it on as a keepsake of our holiday.'

Ruby took the pendant from Gerald and held it up to the light. Her face took on a light blue sheen. ‘It's nothing special, is it?' she said. ‘With all the fuss those kidnappers were going on about, I expected diamonds at least.'

‘Who cares if it's made of petrified dinosaur poo,' Sam said. ‘As long as it gets Mum and Dad back.'

‘And Ox and Alisha,' Gerald said. ‘And Fry and Mrs Rutherford, and all the others.'

‘That's a lot of people to kidnap just to get hold of one piece of cut glass,' Ruby said. She looked at Felicity, who had slumped into a ball with her arms wrapped around her knees.

‘Don't worry about it, Flicka,' Ruby said. ‘I wouldn't think of this as jewellery worth stealing either.'

Felicity raised an eye, and sniffed. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Yeah,' Gerald said. ‘And what if you had given it to the San Francisco police? Brahe wouldn't have been happy that we didn't have it anymore. He wasn't in any mood to listen to reason.' Gerald put his hand to his ear. It still hurt.

‘Do you think everyone is still all right?' Ruby said.

Gerald nodded. ‘Brahe wants this pendant. He won't do anything to jeopardise getting it.'

Ruby passed the pendant back to Gerald. ‘I think we should call the police,' she said. ‘This is getting too crazy. What do we know about getting hostages back?'

‘No,' Gerald said. ‘Brahe was clear. We can't tell anyone. And I'm sure he's got this place bugged. If he finds out we're even thinking of calling the police—'

He was cut off by a sharp banging on the door. They all jumped. Gerald made his way to the entrance. He shot a glance back to his friends, then turned the doorknob.

The assistant housekeeper, Mrs Fitzherbert, stood in the stairwell. ‘So this is where you've been keeping yourselves,' she said. ‘I've been looking all over.' She cast a suspicious gaze over the four guilty faces in the attic. ‘There's a telephone call for you, Master Gerald. A man. Wouldn't give his name.' She gave them another suspicious look, turned and headed back down the stairs. ‘Nearest phone is in the library,' she said over her shoulder.