The Emerald Casket (7 page)

‘I can imagine,' Gerald mumbled.

Vi ploughed on. ‘Here it is. There's some fluff about how important family is—blah, blah, love, respect, blither, blather—and then she says: if Gerald ever has any questions about any of his family history then he should seek out the seven sisters.'

‘Seven sisters?'

Vi nodded. ‘No idea what she's on about. No one in the family has seven sisters. Maybe on your father's side? But then his lot didn't provide us with our little windfall, did they? So they're hardly worth worrying about.'

Gerald sat back into the lounge. Seven sisters? What did Geraldine mean? His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of his mother blowing him a kiss.

‘Lovely chatting with you, my darling, but must away. So much to do. Ta ta for now.'

Vi's face dissolved into static, then
The Bride of Frankenstein
started screening.

Ruby plopped down on the couch next to Gerald.

‘So, how did you get to be so indecisive?'

Gerald shook his head. ‘She casts a big shadow, doesn't she.' He took a deep breath and sighed. ‘I thought she might be more concerned about Green and our family tree though.'

‘Gerald, you've got to stop worrying about Mason Green,' Ruby said, giving his knee a pat. ‘None of those paths on the map in Green's room went anywhere near India. There's nothing to worry about.'

Gerald picked up the remote and switched to a music video.

‘You're right,' he said. ‘There's more than a billion people in India. What are the odds of running into Mason Green there?'

Chapter 5

A
n old black and white detective movie flickered on the big screen. Sam and Ruby were sprawled across the lounge, only half watching it. Gerald sat on the floor, putting the finishing touches to a sketch of Mr Fry dressed as a French maid complete with frilly apron and a long-handled feather duster.

‘You're very good, you know,' Ruby laughed. ‘You should frame that one.'

Gerald studied the drawing. ‘Don't think Mr Fry is going to make an offer for it, somehow.' He flipped the page and started a sketch of the Valentine twins. ‘So,' he said, his pencil darting across the paper, ‘I wonder what's in the other caskets.'

Ruby glanced at him. ‘I thought we weren't going to worry about Mason Green anymore.'

‘I'm not, I'm not,' Gerald said. ‘I was just thinking about the Green Room and that stuff on his desk. That's all.'

‘H-hmm.' She didn't sound convinced.

Gerald glanced up at the screen. ‘These old detective movies are hilarious,' he said. ‘Everyone talks a million miles an hour.'

A man in a trench coat stood in an office, barking orders at a secretary.

‘Maybe I should start treating Ruby like that,' Sam said.

‘Only if you enjoy major blood loss,' she said. ‘What's he doing now?'

The man on the screen had picked up a notepad from a desk and was shading a blank page with a pencil. After a few strokes, a telephone number appeared.

‘That's clever,' Sam said. ‘The guy they're chasing must have written the number down and torn off the top page—there's the impression on the one underneath.'

Gerald stopped drawing.

‘What's the matter?' Ruby asked.

He dropped his sketchpad and dragged his backpack from under the couch. He fished inside and found the three envelopes he'd taken from Green's desk.

He laid them flat on the cabin floor.

‘Surely you don't think…' Ruby said.

Gerald shrugged. ‘Worth a try. Green could have written something on top of these.'

He took his pencil case and found a piece of drawing charcoal. He laid it flat on the envelope marked Family Tree and rubbed across the surface—leaving a plain black smear.

‘Nope,' he muttered, then picked up the envelope marked Fraternity. He repeated the shading and this time the faint outline of some letters appeared.

‘Hello,' Gerald said. ‘Look at this.'

Sam leaned in. ‘Mama la ram,' he read.

‘French, maybe?' Ruby suggested.

‘For what?' Sam said. ‘A confused male sheep?'

Ruby screwed up her face at him.

Gerald shaded across the final envelope with the random string of symbols on it but nothing showed up.

‘What do those symbols mean?' Ruby said.

‘No idea,' Gerald said. ‘So we've got some gibberish and a ram called Mama.'

Ruby picked up the remote and changed channels. ‘Can't believe everything you see in the movies.'

Mr Fry announced that they would land in forty minutes, then disappeared back to the galley.

‘I'm looking forward to this,' Gerald said, tucking his pad and pencils into his backpack.

‘The whole country's meant to be amazing,' Ruby said. She thumbed through a travel guide, full of photographs of ancient cities and temples. ‘The south was hit by the tsunami a few years ago but it looks like everything's back to normal. Can you believe it? A
billion
people.'

‘Do you think Alisha will be at the airport?' Sam asked.

‘And from today, a billion people plus one moron,' Ruby said, shaking her head. ‘Sam, get over it, will you? Alisha Gupta won't even remember your name. You are but road kill on her motorway through life. You are a pimple on the bottom of—'

‘Go easy,' Gerald interrupted. ‘Let a man have his dream.' Sam gazed out a window into the midnight blackness somewhere over the Himalayas.

‘Pfft,' said Ruby. She leafed through the travel guide. ‘Hey, here's something that could be handy,' she said to Gerald.

‘What's that?'

‘It says here that ancient mystics used to recite a secret mantra to bring the dead back to life.' She looked across to Sam as he gazed love-struck through the window. ‘Wonder if it works on the brain dead as well?'

The jet made a rattling landing and taxied to a terminal building, taking a space by an air bridge.

They were greeted by an airport official who led them into a sparsely furnished VIP lounge. At one end of the room a customs officer in an ill-fitting shirt sat behind a bare wooden table. The officer inspected their passports and stamped each in turn. Mr Fry had everyone's luggage on a cart and they followed him to the doorway.

‘Keep close,' he said to Gerald, Sam and Ruby. ‘I'd hate to lose you in the crowd.'

Sam glanced at his watch. ‘It's past midnight,' he yawned. ‘Who's going to be out this late?'

The doors slid apart and a wave of hot air rolled through the gap. It curled up and over the air-conditioned coolness and dumped on top of them, squeezing gasps of surprise from their lungs. They stepped into chaos. There were people everywhere; a jostling mass of bodies at the doorstep to a new world.

The temperature was incredible. Even beyond midnight, it must have been thirty-five degrees or more. Heat radiated up from the ground, chewing through the soles of their shoes. It was impossible to tell where the warmth of the night ended and the heat of the crowd began.

Gerald stood in awe. Hundreds of people filled the area outside the airport building. There were people arriving and leaving, taxis and cars delivering and collecting, bags being dumped and carted. The queue at the taxi rank snaked across the concourse.

‘What do we do now?' Ruby asked.

‘We're supposed to be met by Archer Corporation's in-country agent,' Mr Fry said, a little testily. ‘He ought to be here to take us to the Gupta compound.'

In the crush of activity that surrounded them there was no sign of any waiting driver.

‘Do you know what the agent looks like?' Gerald asked.

‘I do,' Mr Fry said. ‘I believe you've met him.'

‘We've met him?' Sam said.

‘Yes. It's Mr Hoskins. From the book store in Glastonbury.'

Gerald was stunned. They hadn't seen Mr Hoskins since before the clash with Mason Green in the chamber under Beaconsfield. He'd been very helpful in their quest to find the diamond casket but left town before they had a chance to thank him. The news that Mr Hoskins was Archer Corporation's agent in India was almost as surprising as the discovery that he was Mrs Rutherford's brother. For while Mrs Rutherford was gentle, kind and thoughtful, Mr Hoskins was—

‘What's that grumpy old fart doing here?' Sam asked, neatly filling in Gerald's thoughts.

‘He said he was an old friend of the family,' Gerald said. ‘But I had no idea he worked for the company.'

‘If he's spending time out here that'd explain his tan,' Ruby said. ‘Can you get sunburnt at night? This heat!'

They waited. But there was no sign of Mr Hoskins.

Gerald scanned the crowd. He spotted a lone figure standing by a light pole, maybe twenty metres away. He noticed that with all the coming and going this person hadn't moved; a constant in the changing tide of faces. In spite of the heat, the person was dressed entirely in black: trousers, long-sleeved shirt untucked and a loosely wrapped headscarf. For a split second Gerald imagined it was the thin man back from the dead to torment them. He shuddered. The memory of that vile creature still haunted him: the sneer, the remorseless brutality, the rank odour of bleach that hung over him like his own personal nuclear cloud. Sir Mason Green had said his hired thug was obsessive about germs and thought humanity was infested with bacteria. This made him a poor dinner companion but a very effective killer.

But the figure beneath the lamppost couldn't be the thin man. The thin man was painfully pale. A narrow gap in the headscarf revealed a flash of nut-brown skin and piercing dark eyes.

Eyes that were locked on Gerald.

Gerald nudged Ruby. ‘Do you see that guy over there?' he said, not shifting his gaze from those hypnotic eyes.

Ruby looked up. ‘Yeah. What about him?'

‘What did Mr Prisk say? About kidnappers?'

Ruby moved her head to get a better view of the figure in the lamplight. ‘Whoever it is, there's a lot of interest in you.'

Gerald shuffled to his feet and stood behind Sam. The eyes traced every movement.

‘Not being paranoid are you?' Sam asked.

‘No. But I wish Mr Hoskins would hurry up.'

The black-clad figure remained motionless, staring. Gerald could feel the eyes drilling into him.

‘This is starting to creep me out,' he muttered.

A piercing blast split the air: a car horn's shrill rendition of
La Cucaracha
. They spun around. An iridescent yellow armoured vehicle bore down on them like a runaway tractor. It mounted the kerb with a howl of brakes and rocked on its springs. A second later a head emerged through the sunroof.

‘What took you lot so long? I've been waiting for ages.'

‘Mr Hoskins!' Gerald said, with some relief.

‘So much for being discreet,' Ruby said as the rotund body of Mr Hoskins climbed down from the enormous vehicle.

Gerald glanced towards the lamppost. The figure in black had disappeared.

Gerald, Sam and Ruby piled into the back of the car and soaked in the cool air inside. It took Sam two hands and all his strength to pull shut the armour-plated door, which closed with a resounding clunk. Mr Hoskins and another man loaded the luggage into a second vehicle. The driver's door opened and Mr Hoskins clambered in.

‘Where's Mr Fry?' Ruby asked.

‘He's going to follow in the other car,' Mr Hoskins said. ‘I thought you lot could use a break—misery guts that he is.'

They pulled out into the traffic like an ocean liner leaving port and joined a line of vehicles heading towards the city. Mr Hoskins leant on the horn and unleashed a musical tirade as he changed lanes.

‘Mr Hoskins,' Gerald said.

‘Yeah?'

‘What type of car is this?'

‘This, young Gerald, is a Conquest Knight XV—the foremost urban assault vehicle on the market.'

‘I see.' Gerald paused. ‘Are there many bright yellow Conquest Knight XVs in Delhi?'

‘Reckon this'd be the only one.'

‘I see.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘Got a problem with the transport, sunshine?'

Gerald shook his head. ‘No. No. It's fine. Really comfy. But Mr Prisk said we should be careful and, um …discreet.'

Mr Hoskins snorted. ‘That uptight pencil pusher needs to get into the real world.' Another burst of
La Cucaracha
blared into the night. ‘You can be discreet or you can get things done. Take your pick.'

The Knight ploughed through the traffic, a tangle of cars, scooters, trucks, motorcycles and autorick-shaws. Even though it was close to one o'clock in the morning, the streets were crawling with people.

‘Is it always this busy?' Ruby asked, her nose pressed against the tinted window. A motorbike with a gamily of five on the back zipped past them.

‘One thing you'll find here,' Mr Hoskins said, lurching into the next lane, ‘is you're never too far from the next person.'

Gerald leaned between the front seats and gazed through the windscreen. ‘How come you never told me you worked for Archer Corporation?'

‘You never asked,' Hoskins replied. ‘Don't find out stuff unless you ask.'

Gerald wondered what he had to do to get a straight answer from some people. Mr Hoskins in particular was about as opaque as they came.

Then Gerald had a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘All right,' he said. ‘Do you remember at Great Aunt Geraldine's funeral? You said she never came to visit me in Australia because she had to protect something. I'm asking you now: what was it that she was protecting?'

Mr Hoskins popped a peppermint into his mouth and chewed.

‘I can't tell you that,' he said.

‘But you just said you don't find out things unless you ask!'

Hoskins continued chewing on his mint. ‘Well, you can't believe everything you're told neither. And that's advice you can take to the bank.'