Secret Breakers: The Power of Three (23 page)

‘What are you talking about?’ Brodie gasped.

The woman’s brow was furrowed, feigning concern. ‘Brodie, your mother wouldn’t leave the lure of the code behind. She travelled to Belgium to pursue a worthless dream, the stuff of fairytale and myth. Have you never wondered how she lost her life?’

‘She was killed in a car crash.’

The woman looked the way teachers do when a child offers an answer so badly incorrect they’re unsure how to respond.

‘It had nothing to do with MS 408,’ Brodie blurted. ‘It was a terrible accident.’

Still the woman said nothing. She traced a circle once more with her toe. Then she looked up. ‘The manuscript offers nothing but false dreams, Brodie. Now it’s time to give it up.’ Her voice tightened. ‘Pass me Van der Essen’s phoenix so we can end this.’

Brodie could barely breathe.

‘Pursuing a solution for MS 408 can only end in sorrow, Brodie. You’ve been tricked into thinking there’s some great secret to discover. That’s a lie. The book’s a fake. Whatever you’ve found is just another playing piece in the game. An elaborate game. One that’s already cost your mother’s life.’ She stepped forward and Brodie could feel her breath against her skin. The heavy scent of lotus flower swirled around her. ‘Hand me what you found.’

Brodie’s mind was in free-fall. The manuscript a fake? Tricked? Fooled into caring? Into trying? All for nothing. The ground was sliding like wet sand under her feet but something kept her from falling. She felt the picture of the castle inside the locket burning against her skin. As if the castle built of sand was standing tall in the waves as they lapped around it. The castle refused to fall. And she was holding on to it.

‘Perhaps it’s all a terrible game,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got the phoenix.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m not going to give it to you.’

‘Nice speech, little girl,’ the woman laughed and a bead of spit bubbled on her blood-red lip. ‘But this is no time for bravery. The game’s over and this time I’ve won. I’ve got what Smithies wants and he’ll walk away the loser.’

She lunged towards Brodie and the silver box she clutched to her chest.

Brodie stumbled backwards. The long metal box tumbled from her fingers as her arm grazed against the jagged wing of an ornate dragon that reared up beside the window. And like a bell ringing out in the silence, there was the sound of metal on stone as the box crashed against the wall.

It bounced on the ground, its lid flung open.

There, resting in the folds of fabric lining, inside the box, was what the search was all about. The codes, the secrets, the quest.

Brodie knew what it was as soon as she saw it.

Ash
.

Tears of blackened scraps lay like petals on the fabric and the smell of ancient burning rose in the air. A piece drifted on to the woman’s hand. She reached with the fingers of her other hand, pale ghost letters from the kiss of the ash still visible against the skin. At her touch they turned to dust and blew away.

Friedman looked closely at the map in the guidebook and tapped his hand nervously on the front desk. The Dome, a building set behind the Royal Pavilion, had been built by the Prince Regent as a stable for his horses. Now the building was a museum and the exhibitions on Chinese art and Brighton’s picture postcards were drawing many visitors. Friedman had no interest in the exhibits though.

‘Excuse me,’ he said in hushed tones to the rather bored-looking tour guide who was staffing the front desk. She turned her head sharply to the side, her lips pursed. ‘Erm, would you be so kind as to show me the entrance to the secret tunnel?’

The tour guide continued to frown, the ring through her nose wobbling a little, and the tattoo of a mermaid on her neck creasing so it looked as if she were swimming. ‘I’m sorry, mate. Tunnel’s strictly out of bounds. Health and safety issues regarding the structure so it’s closed to the public.’

Friedman clenched his hand into a fist yet tried to make his voice sound relaxed. ‘Yes. I appreciate it’s closed to the public. I was just wondering if you could show me where it is.’ He smiled what he hoped was his most enthusiastic smile. ‘The other guide over there wouldn’t show me either but I thought you looked so much more daring.’ He cast his gaze in the direction of a fairly elderly-looking guide wearing a matching lemon skirt and jumper and a choker of pearls. He turned back again and winked, but feared it may’ve looked merely as if he’d something in his eye.

The tour guide softened. ‘OK,’ she said coyly. ‘As you asked so nicely.’

Friedman was sure it’d nothing to do with his manner of asking and much more to do with annoying the other guide. He’d watched them for at least ten minutes and the level of tension between them was palpable.

‘I bet you take risks and walk through the tunnel all the time,’ he continued, trying desperately to push home his advantage. ‘I mean you have to take some risks in life, don’t you?’

The guide was smiling now, her metal-heeled shoes clipping against the tiled floor. ‘It’s here,’ she said, motioning towards an unassuming green doorway, ‘but don’t tell the old bag I’d anything to do with it. She’s on my case as it is.’

‘Understood,’ Friedman answered. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

She smiled and it was just possible to see her tongue stud glinting in the opening of her mouth.

‘By the way,’ he added as his hand pushed against the door. ‘Where exactly does the tunnel lead to?’

‘Pavilion Music Room.’ She smiled. ‘It comes out in the Band Room and there’s a secret door that leads through to the Music Room.’

‘Splendid,’ he said, pressing his weight against the door. ‘And thank you.’ And with that he winked again and opened the door.

Vernan’s laugh cut through the air as she lowered her hand into the open box and lifted the ashen fragments of manuscript. She let them fall like confetti. ‘So, who’s the loser now?’

Brodie looked down as the dust and stench from the burned papers lifted in the air like a cloud. It was ruined. Van der Essen’s code-book destroyed by the fires of Louvain all along. What sort of joke was this? Why’d a man go to all the trouble of hiding
this
under a cloak of code and cipher?

The palms of the woman’s hands were blackened by the soot. ‘Not a phoenix after all. Just a fraud.’ She stood up, suddenly tall again, her violet eyes dulled.

‘Whatever Van der Essen left you is useless, Brodie. And so whether you like it or not, you and Smithies and the whole irresponsible team have to accept that.’

Her eyes narrowed.

‘Now, Brodie, lover of puzzles and riddles and codes. Here’s a puzzle for you. A puzzle of dragons.’ She waved her hands around again as if conducting the dragons in flight. ‘Of all these beasts there’s only one king. Only one Pendragon, the ruler of them all.’

Brodie scanned the room.

‘Can you guess? Which of those you see is the true ruler?’ The woman stamped her feet dramatically. ‘This one,’ she said, pointing down at the ground and the huge dragon woven into the pile of the carpet. ‘See how the other dragons fly on outstretched wings? Except this one. This wingless dragon is the true ruler. The lowest,’ she stamped her foot again, ‘and yet the highest. The Pendragon. He has no need to fly, for his power is greater than flight. He’s invincible. Indestructible. All power is his. You do well to remember where true power lies, Brodie. Not in flights of fancy, ideas and dreams. In reality. And facts.’

She kicked out her foot and the toe of her boot clanged against the sooty metal box. ‘Take this back to your code-cracking friends and show them there aren’t any secrets to find, no great truths to uncover. Show them you failed. Go home, Brodie. Back to the real world.’

Brodie’s grandfather stood at the desk of the branch of Gimlet and Suffolk International Bank and waited. The assistant who’d gone to get the safety deposit clearance card looked, in Mr Bray’s opinion, hardly old enough to be out on his own, let alone old enough to be in full-time employment. On another occasion he’d have said something. Asked to see the manager even. But the young boy was pleasant enough, and he seemed, when he returned with the card, fairly competent, so he decided not to mention it. There were after all more urgent issues on his mind.

The footsteps of the junior clerk rang out against the tiled floor as he led the way down into the vault. He gestured with his hand and led Mr Bray through to a wall of deposit boxes clearly numbered. Using a swipe card, the clerk opened one deposit box and slid out the small metal tray it contained.

The contents of the box appeared modest. Simply a shaft of papers and a half-opened envelope with the name ‘Robbie’ printed neatly on it with purple ink. Mr Bray felt a surge of emotion as he saw his daughter’s handwriting. The last thing she’d written on the visit to Belgium that cost her life. In the light, it was also possible to see the indentation made by a tiny key and loops from a chain pressed into the paper of the envelope. This sight made him feel no better. Mr Bray’s hand shook a little as he placed all he’d collected into his briefcase.

‘Will that be all?’ asked the bank clerk.

‘For now,’ answered Mr Bray. ‘Thank you for your time.’

‘It’s been a pleasure, Mr Bray,’ replied the clerk, obviously making use of his fresh ‘in store’ training.

Mr Bray tightened the grip on the handle of the briefcase and walked back towards the lobby. If he hurried he might just be in time for the appointment with his solicitor.

It was suddenly cold. The light was beginning to fail and Brodie had begun to shiver.

She wasn’t sure how long ago the woman in red had left her. She heard her leave and then Brodie dropped to her knees, the blue carpet soft against her legs. It hurt to look at the metal box. Soot-covered silver, a dirty reminder of what she’d hoped for and lost. There’d be no rising of the phoenix. The code-book kept safe for so long by the Professor, hidden to be found by someone worthy, was lost. Turned to ash. There’d be no reading of MS 408 now. No understanding of the strange unheard language, or the pictures that seemed to show another place and time. The only thing left to do was to tell the others. So why she waited as the darkness crept ever closer she wasn’t sure. Something told her it was too soon to leave.

When a door opened in the panelling in the wall she wasn’t even afraid. The man who stepped out was thin and wiry, blond hair curling round his head like a halo. Something about him looked familiar but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Something about his eyes. She supposed at first he must be another government official, come to check she understood it was all over. Or perhaps a guard from the museum wanting to know why she’d spilt ash on to the carpet. And it was perhaps the state of the carpet, the blackened smears across the mighty dragons, that made her begin to cry.

‘Hey,’ the man said in a voice as soft as velvet. ‘Why the tears?’

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

He angled his head in question.

‘About the carpet. I’ve made a mess,’ she said.

He smiled reassuringly. ‘It’ll all brush away,’ he said gently. ‘Do you know this whole room was burnt to the ground in the 1970s? Arsonists threw a fire-bomb through the window in November 1975 and the entire room was destroyed. The splendour you see around you now took eleven years to restore. Remarkable, don’t you think, what can rise again from the ashes?’ He waited a moment. ‘No one will be cross about the mess and besides,’ he said, ‘it looks to me as if you’ve been very brave.’

Brodie had forgotten about the cut on her arm. She sat still as he took out a clean handkerchief and pressed it against the wound. As he moved, a tiny golden key glinted on a chain around his neck.

‘Who are you?’ she said at last.

‘Robbie Friedman,’ he said.

Something inside her stomach fell. ‘Friedman who was thrown out of the Black Chamber?’

He looked uncomfortable.

‘Smithies said trying to solve MS 408 cost you your job.’

‘It cost me far more than that.’ His cheeks coloured a little and he returned his attention to the makeshift bandage. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you properly at last. Smithies tells me you’ve a real eye for codes.’

Brodie just pointed down at the soot-filled box. ‘Van der Essen’s code-book,’ she said. ‘It’s ruined. I guess we’ll never read MS 408 now. Besides, that woman told me the manuscript’s a fake.’

Friedman’s eyes gave nothing away.

‘Are you angry?’ Brodie asked.

‘Sad,’ he said, easing himself into a sitting position. ‘It would’ve been wonderful for Alex’s memory if we’d found the truth.’

Her heart leapt at her mother’s name. ‘You believe it? You don’t think it’s a fake?’

He breathed in as if he were about to plunge underwater and needed all the air he could take into his lungs. ‘It’s not fake, Brodie. It’s just – the government don’t want us to know the truth.’

‘What
is
the truth?’

‘Something big,’ he said at last. ‘Knowledge about worlds hidden inside our own, perhaps.’ He paused. ‘Why’d they go to all this trouble if it wasn’t worth hiding?’

‘Trouble?’

‘Well, chasing you for a start,’ he said with a laugh. ‘And making the rules. But other things as well.’

Brodie thought for a moment. ‘But the code-book was ruined anyway.’

‘Maybe.’

Brodie couldn’t help but frown. ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.

‘Anything.’

‘You knew my mum?’

Friedman nodded wistfully. ‘For many years.’

‘I was told she died in a car crash in Belgium.’

Friedman’s eyes flickered.

‘Do you think there was any way,’ Brodie could barely finish her words, ‘any way at all … ?’

Friedman leant forward and pressed his hand on hers. ‘Brodie, your mother’s accident was a tragedy. But if you’re trying to ask me if I believe others were involved then I have to tell you, yes.’ He paused and tightened his grasp on her hand. ‘They’ll stop at nothing to divert people from the truth behind the manuscript. I have to question whether your mother found out too much.’

A silence stretched between them like a fragile spider’s web, yet it didn’t matter neither of them spoke.