Secret Breakers: The Power of Three (7 page)

Brodie swallowed hard. Here they were, a few moments since meeting, at that point of a conversation which always came. She toyed mentally with the idea of pretending. Of just saying they were fine about it, but the way Tusia was looking at her, leaning forward, her eyes narrowed slightly, made her certain this was someone it’d be little use pretending with. ‘My granddad was fine about it,’ she said at last. ‘My parents aren’t around any more.’

‘Oh.’ Tusia fiddled with the edge of the photo frame. ‘Look, I don’t want to be nosey, so if you want to tell me that’s fine, but if not, then that’s fine too.’

Brodie suddenly wished she’d some sort of story to offer that made sense. But she’d never understood it herself.

Tusia returned the smile and put the photograph back on the bedside locker.

Brodie said nothing. There was, after all, nothing to say.

Smithies bit into his apple puff and a shower of icing sugar cascaded on to the table. He wiped the whipped cream from his top lip.

On the other side of the table, Friedman sliced his flapjack into four equal sections.

The Bletchley railway station café really did serve wonderful home baking just as the sign on the door suggested. The staff were also discreet. Generations of the same family had worked in the café over the years and being so closely placed to the mansion, workers had got used to turning a blind eye to secret meetings.

Smithies would’ve trusted Gordon, the main waiter, with his life.

‘So,’ Friedman could obviously barely contain himself, ‘what are the children like?’

‘Interesting.’

‘The ones you wanted came?’

A cloud of icing sugar lifted from Smithies’ fingers. ‘We could’ve done with a few more but it’ll be OK. It’s quality that counts after all. There’ll be three, I think, who’ll make it.’ He decided to be as economical with the truth as he could for now.

‘And, her? She came?’ Friedman touched the necklace he wore and the tiny golden key which hung there sparkled in the light.

Smithies nodded.

‘And does she remind you? You know. Is she like her mother?’

‘She’s a peacemaker. I can tell already. But we can’t allow ourselves to be distracted. We have to focus on why we’ve got them together. What they’re here to do.’ Smithies thought back to the conversation at Russell Square and the excitement he’d seen burn in Friedman’s eyes. It was important to hone in on that, he knew it. Friedman was a dangerous man when distracted.

‘But she looks like her?’

‘She has her smile.’

Friedman gulped down the rest of his tea and Gordon appeared from behind the counter, teapot in hand, to pour a refill.

‘And the adult members of Veritas? The interviews went well?’

‘Ah yes. There was a slight issue with that.’

‘So, who is there?’ Friedman spoke like a child longing to know what presents he was going to get for his birthday.

‘Oscar Ingham.’

‘Sicknote. That old warhorse. Thought he’d snuffed it years ago.’ Friedman leant forward. ‘You really think he’s up to it?’

‘Of course. Of course. Barely troubled by his health at all now.’ He lowered his eyes so as not to catch Friedman’s gaze.

‘And?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Well, who else is there?’ Friedman was impatient.

‘My secretary. Tandi Tandari. Came on exchange from Jamaica. The one with loads of adopted brothers and sisters. Is great with kids, remember?’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘She’s really keen.’

‘And that’s it. You, your secretary and Sicknote. You’ve got to be kidding me.’

‘It’s the best we can do for the moment. It’s a start at least.’

Friedman ran his hand along his chin dejectedly.

‘Look, if you came up to the mansion and joined us, then we’d make progress more quickly.’

‘You know I can’t. I have to lie low. You know that. I can’t risk being found. We stick to the plan. You work with Veritas and I work alone till it’s safe.’

Smithies lifted the apple puff from the plate and downed the last section with the slowness of a man who was either savouring every mouthful or determined not to talk for a while.

‘So what about the tasks?’ Friedman asked eventually as Smithies added more milk to his tea.

The older man leant back in his chair. ‘You know, I don’t think the kids could be doing better.’ It wasn’t altogether true but he’d seen enough to be encouraged. ‘It feels great to be dealing with a challenge again. Feels almost like the old days.’

A flicker of sadness flashed across the younger man’s face. He pushed the remains of his flapjack around the plate with the prongs of his fork. ‘So, you’ve given them the facsimile of the manuscript already? The children have a copy each?’

Smithies winked and there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’ve
sort of
given it to them.’

‘What d’you mean?

‘It’s like this,’ he began.

‘So, did you bring the facsimile of this unreadable book?’ Tusia asked. ‘They didn’t give one to me so I guessed we must be sharing and they’d given it to you.’

‘No,’ said Brodie. ‘Miss Tandari said everything we needed was in the room.’

‘Well, she’s wrong. If it was here, I’d have found it. I’ve sorted through everything and the only thing they left us was the uniform.’

‘Maybe we should go and ask someone.’ Brodie lifted the pile of clothes and went to place it in the wardrobe. As she opened the door, the belt placed on the top of the pile fell, unrolling on the ground like a snake. Tusia got up and lifted the belt from the floor.

‘My life,’ she said, stretching the belt between her open arms, ‘how long is this thing? How wide did they think your waist was?’

Brodie put down the pile of clothes and reached for the other end of the belt. ‘Even my great-aunt Agnes would get this round her waist,’ she laughed, ‘and she’s a woman who’s not to be messed with. You wouldn’t want to challenge her to an arm wrestle, I can tell you.’

She curled the belt back into a loop.

‘Hold on. Wait a bit.’ Tusia grabbed her hand.

‘What’s that? On the belt?’

Brodie recoiled. ‘Is it a spider? Get it off if it’s a spider, cos I’m not good with spiders!’

The belt was once again in a snaking line at her feet.

‘It’s not a spider,’ Tusia reassured.

Brodie reopened her eyes.

‘It’s letters, look.’

Spread evenly across the leather surface, picked out in gold stamping, was a series of shapes.

‘This can’t be coincidence,’ Brodie said, banishing the thought of creepy-crawlies from her mind. ‘But they don’t make sense. They don’t
say
anything.’

‘It’s a test,’ said Tusia. ‘Must be.’

‘Another one? So soon?’ Brodie had hardly recovered from the race against the stopwatch.

‘Let me see.’ Tusia’s face creased with concentration. Laying the belt across the floor it was possible to clearly see the letters
IEOSCHUE
. ‘Another language, d’you think?’

‘Perhaps. I only know a bit of French. Stuff like “where’s the cake shop?” It doesn’t say that. You?’

‘Russian of course. But that’s all. And it’s not Russian.’

Brodie ran her hand across each letter in turn. ‘And why on a belt of all things? A belt for an impossibly large woman who’d obviously asked quite often where the cake shop was!’

‘Or,’ Tusia’s face softened, ‘a belt especially selected to fit you, like the uniform.’ Brodie could see a slither of a thought was worming its way into her brain. Something which felt like excitement bloomed in her tummy.

‘But we’ve already said it’s far too big for me.’

‘If,’ said Tusia, rubbing her hands together, ‘you just wear it once around your waist. But what if I wrap it around until it does fit? Then what?’

Brodie was having difficulty following the line of thought.

‘Look. I don’t think the length of this super-belt which would fit a ten-tonne woman is a mistake,’ pressed Tusia. ‘It must all be part of
the test
.’

Brodie wished she wouldn’t keep using that phrase.

‘Miss Tandari said we’d everything we needed in the room. We must
need
the belt.’ She picked it up from the floor and began to twist it around Brodie’s waist. ‘Help me,’ she said urgently. ‘See what happens to the letters.’

At first absolutely nothing happened to them. Then Tusia decided she was holding the belt upside down. ‘Now look,’ she said, peering at Brodie’s waist. ‘They’re lining up, aren’t they?’

It was true that across the double loop of belt the letters now formed two rows, the letters set on top of each other.

I EOS
CHUE

‘I’m still not getting this,’ moaned Brodie, who was peering down at the letters.

‘Let me read each row,’ Tusia said, pressing the belt tight to Brodie’s waist so it didn’t fall.

‘Got it yet?’

Tusia rocked back.

‘D’you think it’s one word? More?’ Brodie wrinkled her forehead. ‘I Eos Chue?’

Tusia just laughed.

‘Maybe we read the columns,’ Brodie blurted.

It was Tusia’s turn to wrinkle her face in concentration. ‘I Ce Ho Use?’

Brodie imagined she could see the message unscrambling in Tusia’s brain. ‘Well?’ she pleaded.

‘ICE HOUSE!’ yelled Tusia. ‘We’ve got to go to the Ice House,’ she exclaimed.

‘
Finally
,’ said Brodie, unwrapping herself from the confines of the giant belt and breathing out. ‘So let’s go.’

Just then, the door banged open wide. ‘What the cod and chips is this all about?’ said Hunter, trailing his own ‘message belt’. ‘Why do they think
I’ve
eaten all the pies?’

Brodie let Tusia explain.

The door to the small hexagonal building to the right of the mansion was already ajar and Tusia led the way inside. On the floor was a small wooden trunk. The top of the trunk was patterned. Leaves and flowers carved somehow across the domed lid. There was a small leather handle and straps that ran across the trunk and fastened it shut. And a lock.

‘Shall we?’ whispered Hunter.

They knelt down beside the trunk.

‘You do it, BB. Go on.’

Brodie turned the catch on the lock. She unfastened the leather straps. Then, very carefully, she rocked back the lid.

For a moment it looked like the trunk was filled with shimmering gold. A shiny fabric wrapped around a bundle hidden inside.

Brodie’s hands were shaking and her stomach seemed to be pressing against the bottom of her lungs making it difficult to breathe.

She reached into the trunk and lifted the bundle. The fabric fell away. Underneath was a thick bound book. The red leather cover was soft, worn in places, unmarked by any writing or title apart from a small label of unreadable text in the corner. The pages were bulging against a thin cord tied round the leather. She slipped her fingers underneath the loop and loosened the knot. Then she uncurled the cord.

She could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck. Her nostrils were filled with the smell of wood and parchment. With the cord untied, the cover of the unread book flapped open.

This, then, was what her mother had spent years trying to read. The unsolved code her mother wanted to crack. The cipher that had broken full-grown men.

And she was holding it now, in her hands.

Mr Bray leant heavily on his walking stick and surveyed the pile of scattered photograph wallets that remained on the floor in front of the dresser. He took in a deep breath and then very carefully lowered himself down to his knees. It was nearly dark but he didn’t want to put on the light. Having the light on would make everything too real.

He took the first packet of photographs in his hand. He didn’t have to open it to remember the images inside. The details were written in an untidy scrawl across the label and the scenes themselves burnt on his memory.

He swallowed hard and rested the packet for a moment against his chest. He’d known this day would come and in a way it was all he’d longed for. That his granddaughter could carry on with the task he’d begun and his daughter had continued. Mr Bray tried to reassure himself. He knew it needed to happen. But he, more than anyone, knew the danger of breaking the rules.

He couldn’t help being scared.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Brodie. ‘Scary and strange, but beautiful somehow.’

The letters used for the writing were not like any Brodie knew. Even the pictures of flowers and plants weren’t like anything she’d ever seen growing on earth. There was one whole section with pictures of women swimming in tubs or baths. The bit Brodie liked best was a map that folded out of the book, showing nine islands connected by causeways. On one island she could clearly make out what looked like a volcano and also a castle like the one sketched in her locket.

Brodie held the book in her hand and for a moment time stood still. There was something unsettling about it and she was suddenly peculiarly afraid, as if she’d peeped through a keyhole of a tightly locked room and seen something she shouldn’t.

Brodie looked up at the others. It was growing cold and the light of the single bulb above them was flickering. ‘Do we know what we’re getting into?’ she said at last.

Hunter frowned. ‘Well,’ he said, drawing out the word as if in an attempt to delay saying anything else. ‘I’m still not really sure why they think we’ll be able to help them read something that’s never been read by anyone before. But they’ve certainly gone to a lot of trouble to get us here.’

‘And why d’you think it’ll matter if we read this?’ asked Tusia.

‘Ahh, now
that
I can answer,’ said Hunter.

Brodie shuffled closer and Tusia, despite herself, leant in a little nearer.

‘My parents told me about it before I came. People have been trying to read this manuscript for centuries.’

‘So what it says is secret then?’ added Brodie.

‘Yeah, so secret no one has a clue what it means. But if you look at the pictures then this thing’s about some weird unknown place. And it’s the thought of that place which intrigues people. Maybe it’s somewhere undiscovered.’

‘You mean another planet?’ Tusia asked.

‘Maybe.’ He paused. ‘I think it’s something even weirder than that. A world inside our world. A place that exists alongside ours. That it’s possible to find.’